


swan queen thingies

by deceptivelycomplex3925



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Drabbles, F/F, Prompt Fill, varies for each chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-06 17:44:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 28,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4230987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deceptivelycomplex3925/pseuds/deceptivelycomplex3925
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A random collection of prompts, ficlets, drabbles, and any of those other words I still probably don't know the exact meaning of. </p><p>(Because I gave up on sticking to that one prompt list, whoops).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. just once

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt sentence will be the title of each chapter and the ratings of them will vary with each submission. 
> 
> Um, I feel like a lot them could be angsty so sorry? 
> 
> Let's do this then, shall we?

"Emma, I can't fit that in my purse - stop it."

Emma clicks her tongue when Regina swats at her and she sighs forlornly as she tosses the bag of kettle cooked chips in the back seat of her bug before closing the door with a loud groan of protest from the hinges and locking it.

"They could have fit," Emma says petulantly as she catches up to the group, coming up on Regina's left. Robin's got an arm around her waist on the other side of her and Emma winds her arm around Killian's to her left, squeezing at his bicep through the leather of his jacket, a habit of hers she finds oddly comforting.

Regina just shakes her head and adjusts her purse from where Emma had been yanking at it to get the bag to fit - which, it _totally_ would have if Regina would've just given her like a few more seconds, gosh.

"They're disgusting anyway, honestly I don't know how you can eat them," she grimaces and Robin chuckles beside her.

Emma feigns outrage and stumbles backward into Killian for added effect, his hands instinctively going to her hips to keep her steady - Emma notices Regina's eyes darting to the movement but it's like a whisper in her mind, something she barely cognizes but still files away for later analysis, and she's still trying to act affronted at the slight against her favorite chips.

"Did you just - did you just call my chips _disgusting_?" Her hand comes up to her heart. "Yep. No. I'm no longer sharing my popcorn with you. You're dead to me - I'm ripping up our friendship card."

Robin opens the door for all of them and Regina rolls her eyes and gives her a wry tick of her lips. Emma bites back a smile of her own, her eyes definitely not tipping down to take in Regina's jean clad, _amazing_ -

Nope. Definitely not.

 

* * *

 

So, it's Killian, Emma, Regina, and then Robin in the sixth row and they're watching the new Jurassic Park movie because hello, Chris Pratt controlling velociraptors?? Fuck yes.

"I still like the 1997 version better," Regina murmurs halfway through, Emma's fingers meeting nothing but kernel and bag. She frowns and then glares at the handful of popcorn in Regina's fist.

"You just like it because of Julianne." She steals four pieces from Regina and shoves them in her mouth before she can protest and Emma gives a closed mouth grin around her crunching, victorious.

Regina glares, sighs, and hands her the rest of the popcorn, rolling her eyes, before turning toward the movie once more.

"Well, at least I have good taste in women," Regina whispers in her ear a minute later.

And yeah, Emma had been taking a sip of her coke, and yeah, she kind of just choked and sputtered and is now coughing up a lung and Regina's laughing quietly and Robin's asking Regina if she's alright and Killian's patting between her shoulder blades with a look of concern and she waves her hand in a "I'm fine, totally fine" manner before tapping Killian's knee to let her up and shaking her head when he asks if she needs him to come with her.

She makes it to the water fountain outside the bathroom just as it feels like her throat is peeling and her nostrils are burning and she takes a few deep, slow inhales before cursing under her breath when she stretches out her v neck and there's coke all down the front of it. Oh, and it's on her favorite pair of jeans too. Awesome.

She's going to kill Regina.

She's trying (totally just further ruining) to get the coke stains out of her _white_ tee and _light-washed_ jeans when she hears a low chuckle behind her.

She glares at Regina through the reflection in the bathroom mirrors and tosses the brown paper towel she'd been using in the tin garbage can beside her.

"You're buying me a new pair of jeans," Emma grumbles, wetting her hand and using it to scrub at a rather large spot on her left thigh.

"I'm not the one who spilled coke all over them," Regina says through soft laughter.

"No, you're just an asshole."

She looks up to see Regina's got her arms crossed, a hip cocked, and god _damnit_ she looks really fucking sexy like that. Ope, and there's that eyebrow arch too.

"How am I the asshole in this situation?"

Emma waves her hands about, trying to keep her face from going red.

She's 117% sure she's failing.

"The, you know...what you said...the comment about - "

"I was only stating a fact," Regina says, sounding highly amused.

Oh, great. And yeah, Emma's face is definitely red.

 _Ugh_. Regina's _such_ an asshole.

And wait - is she implying something here?

"Wait, are you saying that I _don't_ have good taste in women?"

Regina gives her a look and wow, okay, well _that's_ just fucking rude.

"Um, excuse me, I have excellent taste in women."

"Name one."

"Charlize Theron."

Regina clicks her tongue. "Too tall." What even?

"Anna Kendrick."

"Too short." Oh, come _on_. Also, Regina is 5'4". In what the hell universe does she think Anna is too short?

Apparently this one. Emma barely restrains an eye roll.

"Hey, hey now. Don't be bashing on my wife. She may be small but she's feisty. Also, you're like maybe 2 inches taller than her."

This time Regina's eye roll is massive and Emma bites at the inside of her lip, it doing nothing to hinder her smile.

"Exactly. Too short. And I still hate you for making me go see that movie."

"Oh my god, how can you - you do realize you're like the only person on this planet who doesn't like Pitch Perfect. Or Anna Kendrick."

Emma's given up on her jeans and shirt and her and Regina are just standing across from one another, arguing about...their taste in women? With their actual boyfriends just down the hall.

"I never said I didn't like her. I just think Brittany Snow is much sexier. Everyone's always obsessing over Anna and honestly, if Brittany wasn't in that movie I wouldn't have allowed you to drag me here to see it."

It's then that the particular topic of their conversation finally seems to register with Regina and she averts her eyes to the wall, her cheeks flushing. She clears her throat and makes a show of walking up beside Emma and fixing her totally perfect not messed up at _all_ eye liner.

Emma feels her grin splitting her face in two.

"You totally have a thing for red heads," and it's like _holy shit Regina is bisexual_ and Emma feels her heartbeat in the palms of her hands because like, she'd known. She'd had this hunch for a while, but Regina'd always just denied it or ignored her questions and done the whole "I have a boyfriend" thing - as if that totally doesn't just solidify Emma's (gentle...kind of) accusation. 

But oh my god, oh my god.

"And you have a thing for scruffy halfwits with an affinity for cheap leather."

Emma's smile widens. She didn't deny it this time. _Progress_ , Emma thinks.

"Yeah, but I also have a thing for women. Hot women, I might add. I'm just upfront with it. Unlike you."

Regina scoffs at her and gives her one of those patented glares that Emma actually _really_ doesn't mind.

Like at all.

"Well, not all of us have parents who are so accepting of _that_ particular part of them."

Emma's immediately sobered and she gives Regina's upper arm a sympathetic squeeze.

Regina is tense under her fingers but then she releases a long breath and sags against the sink, her hands gripping at the marble, head tipping forward, long dark curls falling over her shoulders.

"You're right. I'm sorry."

Regina meets her eyes in the mirror and she smiles softly, eyes almost glistening. And she's seen this smile before. Twice. And both times it had been directed at her.

And Emma's pretty sure something's just shifted in the air between them because Regina's turned toward her and now they're just staring, blue-green and russet flickering back and forth between the other, but then. Then Regina glances down and it's for longer than a second and Emma sucks in a sharp breath and  _ohgodohgodohgod_.

And it's just when Emma starts to lean in with Regina, Regina's eyes on Emma's lips and Emma's eyes on Regina's, that she jerks away, her hand shooting up to her mouth in what Emma thinks is shock.

"Robin an - we - we have boyfriends," Regina says, a little breathless. She isn't looking at Emma anymore.

Emma takes a step forward. Regina's eyes snap up.

And there's this moment. This one, tiny (or maybe it's something colossal, something so big it can't ever be ignored - though she knows Regina will try her very, very hardest) moment where their eyes lock and stay locked. Where Regina's eyes waver, glance down again, where Emma sees it. Sees what she thought was always just her imagination over the few years she's known Regina.

She sees want. She sees _longing_.

And if Regina is going to ignore the conversation they've already had, she might as well just go all out hadn't she?

So she licks her lips, stares at Regina's scar for a second, and then takes another step forward, a small one. One that puts her a hair's breadth away. Regina inhales sharply. Emma watches her lips part.

Emma forgets about Robins and Killians and mothers who are rigid and cold. Emma forgets about morals and blue eyes wrought with betrayal and sadness. Emma forgets about the guilt that's already started to wriggle its way into her bloodstream.

Emma forgets about everything but this beautiful girl standing in front of her.

"Just once," Emma whispers. And _god_ , she's throwing herself in the flames. She's actually just punched the beast right in it's frothing mouth and she's a _fucking idiot_ but she knows this already (Regina likes to remind her daily) and honestly, Regina smells _really_ fucking good, something like flowers and a hint of vanilla musk, and her lips are right _there_ and when her eyes flicker up to Regina's, to gauge her reaction, Regina's still staring at her lips.

There's an almost imperceptible nod and the hesitant hovering of a hand just over Emma's right hip.

"Just once," Regina rasps and _oh_ , Emma's never felt more an idiot than when, once it's done, once she's kissed her - twice, actually. But it wasn't her who'd grabbed at her hips and brought their lips together the second time - she's left alone in the bathroom, her heart under her scuffed up chucks and her fingers dancing over kiss bruised lips.

It wasn't flames she'd thrown herself into. Not the jaws of a hungry, insatiable beast, even. No.

She'd just stranded herself in the middle of the goddamn ocean.

And it's kind of numbing, watching Regina's back as she walks away. Because she's going to have to pretend like nothing happened. She's going to have to act like her whole world hadn't just shifted on its axis at the first brush of Regina's lips against her own. She's going to have to kiss Killian later.

She's going to have to see Regina every day and not be able to kiss _her_. She's going to have to watch her with Robin. She's going to have to fucking see her _every goddamn day_ and not be able to kiss her again.

And that saying. That really cliched one. It comes to her then. Runs itself like a record, broken and scratchy, in her mind.

_Water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink._

She's an idiot.

An idiot who's just realized how fucking in love with Regina Mills she is.

 _Fuck_.


	2. i think i'm in love with you and i'm terrified

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is actually a drabble from my fanfic.net account that I never transferred over to here because it's full blown angst and at the time I was incredibly self-conscious and didn't want all of you to hate me. 
> 
> But now I'm like what the hell. *shrugs* *Oprah voice* you get some angst and you get some angst! *shoots angst out of a cannon* *sprinkles some over your head* *explodes in a radiant spray of angst* 
> 
> ...that was ridiculous, I'm so sorry.

"What the _hell_ are you doing?"

Emma's brow furrows and Regina _seethes_ at the way she still finds it endearing.

"I…I thought – "

"Emma," Regina cuts off, disbelief tainting the syllables, her "what are you doing here?" sounding like the "why the _hell_ did you just try to kiss me?" she had meant it to be.

And blue-green eyes shift into something troubled, almost chaotic, and for a split second Regina finds herself grateful that it's no longer her responsibility nor an incessant threat to her mental sanity to try and read Emma's mind.

"I – " she shakes her head then, eyes down casting to her boots, looking increasingly lost. Her eyes tip back up to Regina's, "I thought we could talk."

Regina's eyebrows lift, a sarcastic retort on her lips before she tilts her head, taking in and fully cognizing the wringing hands. The shifting back and forth.

She's _nervous_. And Regina's back teeth gnash together.

Oh, she _can't_ be serious. Emma can't truly think that they can talk about this _now_ , can she?

"Talk," Regina echoes, feeling something pool in her stomach. She's not exactly sure what yet.

Emma nibbles at her bottom lip, eyes darting from Regina's own to somewhere over her left shoulder.

"Yeah, talk. About…about that night, about what happ – "

Anger. It's anger she feels, festering and bubbling and deep. _Bottomless_.

"I'm sorry," Regina cuts her off once again, shaking her head, giving a mirthless exhale of a chuckle, "you show up here on my doorstep after a year of ignoring me, after I'm with someone else, and you want to _talk_? About _what happened_?" She gives a snort then, incredulous. "Get off my front porch, Miss Swan."

She steps back, ready to shut the door in her face if she has to, but Emma stops it with her arm, pushing back and barreling through the threshold like it's her god given right. And perhaps a year ago it would have been.

That anger sloshes around in Regina's gut, burning at her sides, blistering them.

"First off, I didn't ignore you," Emma pierces her with eyes so intense, so clear; so much _emotion_. She's never gotten this much emotion from her before. Not like this. Not when it wasn't laced with underlying contempt. No, this is wholly different and Regina's anger roils within her still but this time something else is mixing with it as well.

She clenches her jaw against it. She'd practiced. She'd shoved this down. Away. She'd buried it. Like all things that have managed to knock down her painstakingly constructed walls and burrow themselves inside of her, fitting as though they belonged there all along, she'd dug her nails into their very flesh, pried them off of her pulsating veins, the blood off which they seemed to thrive.

Her blood. Her heart. Her soul.  _Her_. She'd ripped them from their home and threw them in a box. A cold box. A dark box. A box with no light, no heat, nothing. A box full of things that just took, took, took. A box with steel lining and an air tight lid. A box hidden somewhere in the deepest confines of her mind. A box untouched.

Her mother was in there. 

Emma was in there now as well. 

She'd practiced.

She doesn't care. She's _over_ her. Emma's nothing to her now but another addition to her little box.

"It's not like you were talking to me either," Emma grumbles. She sounds like the petulant child she is and Regina gives her a scathing look. She is _not_ going to talk about this.

"Second off, I'm putting myself out here for you, the least you could do is – "

" _Excuse_ _me_? The least _I_ could do?" Her anger seeps into the lining of her, out of her stomach and into her veins, into her bloodstream, heating the surface of her skin, pricking at it.

Within a second, within those five syllables, Regina's anger tears through her with a vengeance, completely shattering any and all sense of indifference. Of not caring.

Because she cares. Oh _god_ , does she care. And oh god, does she _hate_ it with every fibre of her being.

She takes a step forward and balls her hand into a fist to keep it from jabbing a finger at Emma.

"Who do you think you _are_ , Emma Swan? Who do you think you are to barge into my home, try and _kiss me_ , while I'm with someone else no less, and then tell me you're putting yourself _out there_ \- _for me_?" She lets out another laugh, feeling it like something sour on her tongue. "To then throw something like 'the least you could do' at me – _no_. You've done _nothing_ to put yourself _out there_. You've barely said more than twenty words and so far all you've managed to do is force yourself into a place you're no longer wanted."

Regina crosses her arms, feeling like she's just revealed too much of herself with her outburst, hating that she's let Emma get to her this quickly.

Emma blinks, cheek twitching, brow furrowing with what Regina distinctly recognizes as pain and she doesn't feel so much as a _sliver_ of regret for her words.

"Oh," is all she says and Regina's jaw constricts at the lack of emotion, tamping down the rage she feels, bites back the words _oh? That's all you have to say is_ oh _?_

She finds herself speaking others before she can think better of it and snatch them back.

"Robin's made me the happiest I've ever felt since Daniel."

Which is a blatant lie but Emma's eyes snap up and Regina feels nauseous from the way her body _sings_ with satisfaction at the hurt that flashes within sea green irises. Hurt that steels into something harder, something akin to the box she feels Emma pounding at within her mind.

" _Fuck you_ , Regina," she spits and Regina's lashes flutter at the venom behind it, her eyes dancing, lip curling, feeling _alive_ for the first time in a year.

"You wish you could, don't you, dear?" She feels almost drunk on the feeling of revenge, of being able to cut Emma how she'd been cut by her all those months ago.

She takes another step with her words, aware of the fact that she's flirting with her own pain, her own self-deprecation. "It must be maddening to realize that you could have had me, _all_ of me, and yet you threw it away because of uncertainty. Because of someone who probably _still_ doesn't know how to treat you well. It must be absolutely _terrible_ to know that Robin now has what you could have. That he's laid claim to me. That I've asked him to. _Begged_ him. Did you know I've never begged someone before him?"

She can't seem to stop herself. She's not even sure if they're lies or truths anymore. She just wants to hurt Emma. She wants it to _burn_.

There are tears building up in Emma's eyes and she takes an unsteady step backward, words choked and small when she says, "stop it."

But Regina can't. She can't stop it. Everything aches and everything hurts and she just wants it out, out, out. She wants Emma to feel it. _Needs_ her to feel what she's had to for a year. 

"Daniel and I never got to that point and you certainly wouldn't have gotten it out me. No," Regina chuckles, the sound low and graveled, "I don't think you would have. But him? Oh, Emma. He's so good to me. So tender and gentle. But when I ask for it, rough, passionate, _raw_. And even sometimes when I don't."

Emma's openly crying now, tears falling down her pale cheeks, eyes glistening,  _destroyed_.

And this time she does feel remorse for her words. It sobers her, Emma's tears, and she feels heaviness settle low in her gut. Feels it like a rock, cold and hard and permanent.

She'd gone too far, cut too deeply. She'd cut Emma far deeper than Emma had ever cut her and maybe that's just for the best. She was with Robin and Emma was with the pirate and now they can part ways indefinitely.

"Did that make you feel better?" Emma asks after a moment, voice hoarse but not bitter. She just looks hollowed out now, eyes dull and face blank. She wipes at her nose with the back of her hand.

And no, Regina concedes, it didn't. It didn't make her feel better at all. She felt horrible, actually. The lid to her box is ajar now and Emma's weaving within her again. But this time it feels foreign, feels something like a sickness, _wrong_.

"No," Regina whispers, horrified to find herself blinking back tears of her own.

And Emma wipes at her nose again, sniffs, finds Regina's eyes, gives a smile.

It's something tired and resigned, _defeated_ , and Regina thinks _no, don't give up on me_ before an entirely new wave of guilt washes over her at the thought and she pushes Emma back into her box, pressing down on the lid with all her might.

"I guess it's a good thing we didn't ever talk about this until now, huh?" Emma says, voice scratchy.

And Regina knows this is the end, that this is going to be the very last time they talk like this. So she allows herself a small smile of her own.

"Yes," she says, "I guess it is."

Emma's eyes flicker with something, something too quick to put a name to, and Regina doesn't allow herself to dwell on it. She can't. She _won't_.

"Goodbye, Regina," Emma says, before turning and walking out the front door, closing it softly behind her.

 _I think I'm in love with you and I'm terrified_ , she hears Emma whisper in her mind.

Regina closes her eyes, feeling the hot wetness of her tears falling with the action.

She doesn't wipe them away. She just pictures that night a year ago. Emma's eyes so open, so honest.

She lets herself feel her heart pound away in her chest like it had when Emma'd uttered those words to her in a breathy rush. She allows herself to feel it. All of it. The love, the happiness, the hope, the hurt, the pain, the resentment, the anger.

And then she stops it.

She'd practiced. She's good at this.

It's much easier this time.

Emma quiets inside her box. Just mere whispers now and Regina feels in control over her body once more.

And then she opens her eyes, everything within her that had been just _Emma, Emma, Emma_ , completely still. Silent.

"Goodbye, Emma," she whispers into the foyer before making her way into the kitchen to fix dinner for her and Robin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also! I just wanted to say that I do see and read ALL of the comments sent to me and they literally make my goddamn heart smile and I love every single one of you and thank you so, so much. Seriously. So much love.


	3. well this is awkward (they're just so gay...and totally in love)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because I am literally a mental patient now. 
> 
> I had to write this. 
> 
> I'm ridiculously obsessed with Pitch Perfect and Bechloe, I know. Leave me alone. 
> 
> Also, this fic is replete with personal headcanons of mine so yeah.
> 
> Also, also, I already had this written before I added the "well this is awkward" line so it'd fit for this prompt list. (I will finish it if it is the last thing I do) 
> 
> I think for this one, Dark One Emma never happened.
> 
> And I didn't watch the movie or anything while I was writing this (though I probably should have) so if the timing doesn't match up just pretend it does.

"No."

Emma lets out a sound, and even to Henry's ears, it's a bit ridiculous. Not even _he_ would stoop to that level of whining.

" _Regina_ ," she draws out the last letter, stomping for good measure. Which looks even more absurd because she's wearing owl booties and they barely even make a thud against the hardwood floor. "You said I could pick the movie tonight!"

Mom drizzles caramel over the popcorn in his bowl and chocolate over Emma's (which, _ew_. Caramel is the perfect combination, chocolate is just… _not_ ).

"Yes, well, that was before I knew you were going to choose," she looks up then, tilting her head with a curled lip toward the purple movie case in Emma's hand, " _that_."

"It's an awesome movie, Regina, seriously. I watched it last night to make sure." Emma puts on that pout, that head tilt, the batted eye lashes, and Henry counts _one, two, thr_ –

"Oh, _fine_ ," Mom huffs, grabbing their bowls and brushing past them to the living room.

Emma gives a little whoop and a fist pump, grinning like a mad woman, and Henry shakes his head, wondering if Emma knew that she could get Mom to literally paint the whole house orange if she looked at Mom like that long enough.

He's also a little offended. "What the hell. One little pout and she caves?"

Emma smirks, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "Looks like I'm cuter than you, kid. Don't be upset," she ruffles his hair and he swats at her, "it was only a matter of time. Also, hell counts as a swear word."

He ducks out of her embrace, glaring at her back as he fixes his hair – _honestly_ , he had tried this new thing with his bangs earlier and Emma'd _totally_ just screwed it up.

Emma's on the couch munching happily at her popcorn as Mom puts in the DVD.

He plops next to Emma and she hands him his bowl as Mom comes and sits on the other side of her, looking irritated with the whole situation.

"Relax, woman. By the end of it you'll be singing along and bobbing that sock-clad foot of yours." Emma flashes a grin and Mom rolls her eyes as she steals a few pieces of popcorn from Emma's bowl.

Seriously, was he the only one who found that shit nasty?

 

* * *

 

" _Emma_!" Mom screeches not five minutes into the movie. Ma's laughing, looking half a second away from choking on her popcorn as she belatedly attempts to cover Mom's eyes.

"Whoops. Don't look, Regina," she says, laughter in every syllable. Mom smacks at her hands and gives her best 'I hate you but really I love you so I'm only going to pretend that this glare is out of disdain and not total, complete affection, oh idiot of mine' glare and really, Henry could have used a warning too. The uptight blonde just projectile vomited and though he's kind of impressed at the skill – and the CGI there – he's no longer in the mood for his caramel popcorn and sets it on the coffee table in front of him with a grimace.

"That was absolutely disgusting," Mom says, crossing her arms. But her eyes are still on the screen as the opening credits roll.

Henry's fingers tap out to the beat on the arm of the sofa and maybe Mom's foot isn't bobbing yet, but his and Ma's totally are.

 

* * *

  

"What is with this 'aca' phrase? Are they going to be saying that throughout the entire movie?"

"Yes, now shut up and watch."

Mom looks affronted, mouth agape, and Henry muffles a chuckle behind his hand.

 

* * *

  

"Ma, are you – are you quoting the words?"

Emma whips her head to look at him, eyes wide. "Wha – no!"

"You totally are."

"I thought you said you'd only seen this once?" Mom asks, and in the flickering light coming from the TV, Henry can see her smirk.

"It's a really good movie!" Henry's positive she's blushing.

 

* * *

  

"Oh my god," Henry says not ten minutes later, eyes continuously going from the movie to Emma and back again. "You're only quoting the alt girl's lines!"

She sinks into the cushions. "Kid, leave me alone and watch the freaking movie."

Mom chuckles, finding his eyes over Ma's shoulders.

"And her name's Beca," she grumbles a few seconds later.

 

* * *

  

"What is this rated?" Mom asks with a gasp.

"PG-13, calm down. It's not even showing anything."

Henry's totally cool with this shower scene. Mom's not. She's kind of fidgeting and keeps scooting away from Ma...who's playing with her fingers, body stock-still.

Henry narrows his eyes at them.

 

* * *

  

"I think Beca and Chloe should get together." Because he's starting to realize why Emma likes this movie so much and he's totally going to use it to his advantage.

Emma chokes on her beer and Mom waves her hand, drying up the spots where it dribbled on her V-neck. Henry arches a brow at the reaction.

"What?" He shrugs and gestures toward the TV. "They literally almost just made out."

"What, no. They're just friends," Ma says a little too quickly, sitting her bottle down and wiping at her mouth.

"Looked a little _too_  friendly if you ask me," he muses.

Emma kind of coughs a little and shifts further into the couch, eyes darting over to Mom before going back to the movie. Mom hasn't taken her eyes off of it the entire time. She actually looks like she's purposefully keeping every inch of her body from touching Ma and _honestly_ , they're both just _so gay_.

This movie is _so gay._ Emma has seen it probably at least fifty times. And her favorite character is the also extremely gay, plaid wearing one. Everything is just so blatantly _gay_ and he doesn't understand how they don't _see it_.

 _Ugh_.

 

* * *

 

"Dude, Aubrey's a total bitch," he comments when the blonde makes that girl with the chair cry. He's totally with the Beca chick on this.

"Henry!" Mom admonishes and _shit_ he forgot she was there. He hates the 'no cussing' rule and isn't sure why it's even a thing when he and Ma both know that out of the three of them, Mom's the one with the most colorful language. 'Well, you certainly don't get it from me.' 'Oh please, Regina, I've heard you cursing at the moles in your garden.' 'They're _ruining_ my calla lilies!'

 _He_ doesn't even curse that much. Besides he's 17. He's allowed now.

He winces. "Sorry, Mom." Emma snorts. Henry kicks her. Emma only chuckles.

"Both of you behave."

And _god_ it's so disgustingly domestic and these are his moms, his _family_ , and they're all three cuddled up on the couch watching _Pitch Perfect_ because Ma  _pouted_ and Mom'd relented and his heart squeezes in his chest.

 

* * *

 

"She can't seriously be into him."

Emma gapes. "Um, he's adorable and he makes her laugh."

"He looks like a gerbil."

Henry kind of has to agree.

"Excuse me?! Do you need to go grab your glasses and put them on?"

Mom just laughs and shakes her head. "You always have had terrible taste in men."

And yeah okay Mom, let's just be a little bit more obvious, I don't think Ma got the hint there.

 

* * *

 

"I do not have terrible taste in men," Ma mutters about twenty minutes after Mom had said that.

"Hook, Walsh, that guy from the pastry sh – " Henry ticks off with his fingers.

"I didn't ever _date_ Tom," Ma says. Mom looks like she's trying not to laugh out loud. She kind of fails when her voice wobbles.

"You dated someone named  _Tom_? And he worked at a _pastry shop_?"

"I didn't ever date him!"

Henry can't stop laughing at the big bad wolf impersonation Ma's got going on right now and she smacks him in the face with one of the couch pillows.

 

* * *

 

"Fat Amy is my spirit animal."

Ma laughs and Mom just rolls her eyes. Henry can see her smiling though.

 

* * *

 

"That boy is seriously so annoying. They're not dating, like she said, so why does he keep pawing after her like some sad little puppy?"

Emma gives her an incredulous look. Henry thinks Mom _really_ sucks at subtlety. He distinctly remembers her describing Hook that same way when he and Ma were still dating.

"Do you have some personal vendetta against Skylar?"

Mom scrunches her face. "I thought his name was Jesse?"

Henry rolls his eyes.

 

* * *

 

"No but seriously why do you hate Jesse so much?"

They're at the scene where there's some more projectile vomiting and the weird girl is making snow angels in it and he's starting to wonder if this might become a phobia of his.

"Because he's annoying and I agree with Henry that Beca should be with Chloe."

Henry snaps his head around so quickly he's half concerned he's given himself whiplash.

" _What_?" He and Ma say at the same time.

Mom just shrugs, looking completely composed and not at all embarrassed. "They make more sense than Beca and Jesse do."

And Henry wonders if maybe Mom is being not-so-subtle on purpose.

 

* * *

 

"See, she kissed him. They're totally in love."

Mom snorts. "I think your taste in movies could give your taste in men a run for its money."

Henry feels Ma stiffen beside him. _Uh oh._

"Yeah, well at least I didn't ever fall for a married man who made me his second choice every goddamned time he got one."

Ma is up and storming out of the living room the next second, leaving Mom blinking in silent shock. The ending credits roll. Henry feels his stomach bottom out.

 

* * *

 

"Why don't you go upstairs, sweetheart?" She gives him a smile and it doesn't look even kind of convincing. "I'll go talk to Emma."

He watches as she picks up their bowls and makes her way toward the kitchen.

He waits a beat. Then two. And then he tiptoes carefully through the dining room and presses against the wall that leads to the kitchen, hearing the soft clinks of the bowls as Mom sets them in the sink.

"Well, that was all a little melodramatic don't you think?"

And god. _Mom_.

"Seriously? Regina, you've been insulting me the entire movie. What the hell even is that by the way?!"

He hears Mom sigh and he imagines her pinching at the bridge of her nose and closing her eyes.

"Okay," Mom says. It sounds a little strained. "I'm sorry. You're right. That was…uncalled for."

There's a beat of silence before a halted, "thank you."

There's another beat of silence, and another, and another, and then he hears Emma give a rough chuckle followed by a soft "well, this is awkward," and _jesus_ _christ_ does he have to do _everything_ around here?

He rounds the corner, completely fed up. Like, they do this movie night every Friday. Her and Mom go out to lunch. _Every day_. Emma has a _toothbrush_ here.

"Oh my _god_ , you two are actually _ridiculous_ ," he says, hands flying up and slapping back down to his cotton sweats.

They both jump. They're by the sink. Like feet away from each other.

 _Seriously_?

"Henry, what are you – "

He gestures toward Mom, cutting her off. "You were being an asshole because you're still jealous over Ma dating Hook." Mom sputters and Ma's eyes widen. Henry locks eyes with her next. "And you were totally over doing it with the whole 'oh, he's adorable and totally the one for Beca' thing. You literally only like that movie because of the brunette, which is like _really_ gay, Ma."

They're both looking at him like he's just told them he killed his grandparents with his bare hands and he's not finished.

"Also, you're both totally in love with each other and if you could like, you know, take your heads out of your _asses_ and freaking like hug or kiss or get married or _whatever_ ," he scrunches his face up and motions toward them. "That'd be really great."

He feels _exhausted_ suddenly and he blows out a long breath before fixing his stock-still mothers with a stern look. "I'm going to bed now. Whatever you're about to do, be quiet about it."

Then he stomps off and up the stairs, silently making a vow to _never_ be as oblivious as them when it comes to love.

 

* * *

 

He's a little worried when he wakes up the next morning.

Now that's he's had a good nine hours of sleep, he realizes he'd been a tad brazen last night.

But as he makes his way down the stairs he smells maple and coffee and when he rounds the corner into the kitchen he kind of stops short and blinks.

Because Ma's got her arms wrapped around Mom from behind as she flips what Henry now recognizes is her famous maple pancakes and Mom's actually just _giggled_ and _holy shit it worked._

And then Ma's nuzzling at Mom's neck and there's kissing and this seriously _gross_ smacking sound and he coughs so they'll _please, stop doing that in front of him_.

Ma jumps backward, hand flying to her chest, and Mom blushes and tucks a thick of her kind of messy hair behind her ear.

"Henry," she breathes, kind of pressing her lips together as if to – nope, _nope_. Ew. Okay, ew. He's seriously rethinking his speech last night.

He loves them and he's really, _really_ glad (and relieved because _finally_ ) that they're like aware and in love and stuff but he doesn't need to see or _hear_ it.

"I'm half-awake with no food in me. Pancakes first, then you guys can give me whatever speech I know you've got prepared."

They both blink at him and then Emma shakes her head, chuckling softly. She ruffles the hair at the nape of his neck and he halfheartedly ducks away from it.

"You're a bit too perceptive, kid, you know that?"

He smirks then, taking the fork and plate of pancakes Mom hands to him.

"Adds to my overall charm," he says and then takes a huge bite, grinning through his chewing as Emma rolls her eyes and Mom gives him a reproachful head tilt and yeah, it's just like it always is.

Except now when Mom looks over at Ma it's with unbridled, completely open affection.

Now when Ma rests a hand at the small of Mom's back as they drink their coffee together, Mom leans back into the embrace and it turns into Ma wrapping her arm around her waist and a contented smile meeting both their lips.

"So, wanna watch Pitch Perfect 2?" He asks with a smile.

"Is the beard in it?"

Emma rolls her eyes. Henry joins her.

They watch it later that night and Mom falls asleep in Ma's arms.

He covers them up and turns off the TV before making his way upstairs.

The next morning Ma's toothbrush isn't in the guest bathroom anymore.

Henry smiles, the scent of bacon and the sound of Mom's soft laughter filtering in from the kitchen infusing a warmth inside of him he wants to keep feeling for a very long time.

When Mom greets him with a "good morning, sweetheart" and Ma gives him a matching "morning, kid" he knows he's going to.


	4. i think we need to talk (please don't leave)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I may have used two of them in this one. Huh. Didn't mean to. 
> 
> This went completely not at all where I had originally planned it to. 
> 
> Um. Only slightly AU, I guess. It's a minor, very minor detail because it's mentioned only in parentheses but Marian wasn't Zelena and she didn't die. Also Dark Emma doesn't happen. 
> 
> It's 9 o'clock in the morning and I haven't slept. So I can almost guarantee there will be mistakes. Sorry. I'll edit them out tomorrow when I'm not just barely coherent. 
> 
> Do you hear ringing?

“I want to fuck you, Regina.” Her hands wrap around a petite waist, skin hot beneath her fingertips where a deep indigo blouse has been hastily untucked from onyx slacks. “So _please_ , just…let me?”

An olive-toned hand presses against her breastbone then, her lips barely brushing Regina’s as Regina tilts her head away.

“Is that all you want from me? Just to fuck me?” It’s said softly, meant to be gentle teasing, Emma knows. But she sees the hurt swimming within the dark irises searching her own. And they didn’t _do_ this. They weren’t supposed to. No feelings attached. No messiness. No problems.

Just sex. _Just_ fucking.

They’d agreed.

Emma sighs and takes a step back, Regina’s nails scraping against her bra where Regina’d unbuttoned her shirt as she does so, her hands falling to her sides, off of Regina’s hips. Regina crosses her arms over her stomach even though Emma hadn’t even touched the buttons on her blouse yet. 

She rubs at her forehead, feeling a headache pound behind the bone there. She thinks about having this discussion. The one they’d promised never to have.

The one that has her flat on her back most nights, blinking up at the ceiling, lulled into an almost numbed trance by Killian’s soft snores.

She thinks about telling her. She does.

But when she looks up she remembers why she had decided not to four months ago. When they started this. Well, when they gave _in_ to this.

Because Regina’s looking at her like she wants more. She’s looking at her like she’d give Emma the entire world if she asked for it. She’s looking at her like she _loves_ her.

She’s looking at her like she loves her and it _hurts_.

And Emma’s sure it does. She’s almost positive it does. It probably hurts the exact same way it hurts her.

They were idiots for doing this. For giving in to something that would only end up burning them both, leaving them with indentical scars.

Emma loved scars. Especially the one above Regina’s top lip.

Her eyes move to it; it’s more prominent in this moment, Regina’s lipstick smudged, lips a light plum, kiss-bruised.

Her fingers twitch to skitter across it, to smooth a thumb over it, to kiss it like she has so many times before.

“I’m not doing this with you,” Emma grits out, balling her hand into a fist to keep it from reaching out to Regina.

She turns to leave, shirt still unbuttoned and one side hanging slightly, exposing her shoulder. 

Her hand is on the knob of the front door when Regina seems to find her voice.

“Of course you won’t. Because that would mean you’d have to talk about your _feelings_.” This time her voice is bitter, chipped with it, hoarse. And she spits out the last word like it’s sour on her tongue.

Emma whirls around. “Yeah, the ones we said we weren’t going to _have_ , remember?” Emma stalks forward, heart pounding beneath her ribcage. “Because you have Robin Hood and I have Killian and we weren’t _ever_ supposed to do this, Regina.”

“We knew what we were getting ourselves into, what would happen, we _knew_ and yet we did it anyway. Because we’re fucking _idiots_.” Emma gives a sharp bark of laughter and Regina sucks in a breath, something quick and accompanied by her arms uncrossing, hands clasping together instead, wringing, clenching and unclenching against the soft silk of her blouse.

She looks like she’s struggling to keep herself held together, like maybe if she squeezes her hands hard enough it’ll keep the rest of her intact as well.

Emma understands the action. Understands _Regina_. Understands Regina more than anyone else in this town does. More than Henry, more than her mother, and certainly more than _Robin_ _Hood_.

She feels her jaw flex at the thought. At the thought of someone else’s hands caressing, touching, _feeling_ Regina’s skin. At the thought of Regina enjoying it, _wanting_ it.

“Yes,” Regina breathes, “yes we are.”

She swallows then, looks around the foyer (they hadn’t even made it up the few stairs past the door), clears her throat, seems to have a little more control over herself.

“You should go,” she says softly. Emma blinks. Swallows. Nods. Heads for the door again.

She’s turned the knob and is just reaching the last step off the porch when she hears it. The inhale, the tremor in it, the three words, rancor dripping from every letter: “back to _him_.”

And Emma knows she’s being baited. Knows that she shouldn’t take it. Not when it’s dangling in her face and swaying back and forth. She _knows_.

But god _dammit_ Regina has absolutely _no_ right. So she spins, eyes flashing, finger jabbing at the air between them.

“ _No_. You do _not_ get to do that. You don’t get to act like the jealous lover. You don’t get to act like you have every right to be angry at me. Because you don’t. You have no right whatsoever. You have someone in your bed who isn’t me every night too.”

Horror ripples through her, soaking into her skin as she feels the hot pricking of tears, her throat tightening, a tremble, a hitch in her words that makes her want to punch something.

She draws in a breath, tries to keep the shakiness out of it, fails. She blinks back the burn in her eyes.

“You keep choosing him over me too, Regina, so _don’t_.” She gives a watery smile, feeling it like something awful on her face. “It’ll save us both the heartache.”

She turns to leave for good then. Wishes it could be for forever. Wants it like she wants most things that are just out of her reach. _Desperately_.

She wants Regina all to herself. She wants to be the only one who touches her, kisses her, wakes up beside her every morning. She wants to be the cause of her laughter, her surprising shyness when paid a compliment, her anger, her insecurities. She wants all of it. All of _her_.

But she also wants her as far away from her as possible. Out of reach completely. Where her fingertips can’t graze the silk that is her skin. Where she can’t be tempted. Where she can’t want. Can’t _need_.

She doesn’t want to need Regina. She doesn’t want someone to have power over her like that. Doesn’t want to put so much of herself into another person’s hands just to have them let her pieces fall through the cracks of their fingers and onto the floor because they’re already too full of someone else’s.

She doesn’t want to need Regina because if she _was_ to allow herself to need anyone it should be Killian. The man she loves. The man who loves her back. Loves her back and loves her so fiercely she wonders sometimes if he’s confusing it with something else entirely. Sometimes she wonders if maybe he views her more as a thing to be worshipped than anything else. Wonders if he’s gotten caught up in what she’s supposed to stand for. If perhaps he views her as his savior.

She doesn’t want to be anyone’s savior. That implies need. And if there’s one thing Emma’s terrified of more than needing someone, it’s being needed.

But Regina won’t leave Robin Hood because _he’s my soulmate, Emma, don’t you think I should at least try to be happy with him?_ Emma doesn’t want to need Regina. Emma _isn’t_ in love with Regina. She’s in love with Killian. Him and only him. He’s enough. Has to be. Emma’s happy. Regina’s happy.

They’re _both_ happy.

 _And yet here you both are,_ Emma’s mind whispers.

She fights back tears but Regina’s broken ‘please…don’t leave’ a second later makes that fight a losing battle, her eyes closing, another shaky inhale making her shoulders tremble with it as she tenses every muscle in her body, keeping it from turning.

Her knuckles are straining, bone-white, against the force of her clenched fists and she grinds her teeth.

_Don’t turn around. Keep walking, Swan._

“We can’t do this anymore, Regina,” she says, voice soft, completely belying the rigidness of her entire body.

She doesn’t turn.

She makes it to the intersection off Mifflin Street before she breaks down. Sitting inside of her bug at the stop sign, the sun glinting off of the hood, almost blinding, hands gripping the wheel, the smell of leather and the cinnamon air freshener she had bought a few weeks ago at Regina’s insistence (incessant grumbling over the smell and _hey, come on, it doesn’t smell_ that _bad in here_ ) permeating her already overloaded senses. If Emma was being honest though, Regina'd been right. Her bug _did_ kind of smell. Even Henry had scrunched his nose a few times, always looking absurdly like his mother whenever he did so. 

Killian’d almost be back to the apartment by now. Her and Regina only ever met up on Tuesday afternoons. Henry was at school, Robin was with Roland (and Marian at Granny’s), and Killian was at the docks, on his beloved ship.

She’ll have to clean herself up. Take a shower maybe. No, not maybe, yes. She smells like Regina. And though Killian wouldn’t suspect anything other than possibly a new fragrance she’d bought, it makes her feel dirty. And the fact that she feels _that_ makes her stomach heave.

She yanks down the mirror above the steering wheel and assesses the damage her five minutes of crying had caused.

She winces. Pokes and prods under her eyes, wipes and wipes. Sighs. Gives up.

She’ll shower when she gets home. She’ll let herself fall apart one last time if she needs it. (She knows she will.)

She’ll welcome Killian with a kiss, smile. She’ll be happy (she will, really, she always is when she sees him). They’ll go to Granny’s for dinner. They’ll hold hands on the way there.

She won’t think of Regina.

She won’t think of Regina crying. Won’t think of _please…don’t leave_. Won’t think of how small it had sounded, like a plea. Regina doesn't plead. Certainly not to Emma. 

She won’t think of how she can still taste Regina on her lips even though she had brushed her teeth. Twice.

She won’t think of how she can still smell her – that floral scent she has, mixed in with something exotic, like coconuts, tropical, a little like tanning lotion – on her skin even though she’d used half of her body wash which didn’t smell _anything_ like Regina. She’d made sure. She’d bought Dove. It smelled like baby powder. It reminded her faintly of her mother. She figured if anything could be a damper on the libido, it'd be _that_.

She’d washed and washed, scrubbed and scrubbed, and yet she can still smell her. Like it’s been tattooed on her skin, an indelible thing, something that she’s afraid is going to linger for days, weeks even.

She’ll have to buy perfume or something. And she definitely needs to get rid of that air freshener hanging off her rearview mirror. Should she –

“Are you alright, love?”

Emma snaps her head up, blinking up into light blue eyes before her gaze travels down to where Killian’s hand’s rested over top her own, next to their drinks.

It feels too warm, too big, and she can’t seem to stop herself from thinking how Regina’s touch always feels right. Never too anything.

She snatches her hand away and stumbles up and out of the booth, staring at her hand as if it didn’t belong to her.

“Emma?”

She hears the concern in his voice, hears the poorly contained hurt in it. She hears it but she doesn’t respond to it.

Numb. She’s numb with him. Everything is always so muted, so bland. So _dull_ in comparison to what she feels when she’s with Regina.

And _fuck_ how could she have been so stupid? How could she have allowed herself to fall so deeply into this?

“I – not feeling well – I’m – ” She bolts.

And she hears him yelling after her, his boots clomping loudly against the sidewalk as he rushes after her and she just  _can’t_ right now. She needs to be alone, needs to fucking _breathe,_ so she squeezes her eyes shut and pictures grey brick and a mirror and that little bench or was it more like a bed? and when she opens them next she’s in Regina’s vault, gasping because even though Regina’s taught her how to teleport it’s still a bit of a head rush and she always forgets to breathe when she does it. _Emma, it’s not like going underwater, you have to breathe or you’ll pass out and end up god knows where._

She bends at the waist and suddenly she’s retching all over the concrete floor.

Regina is going to kill her. She has no idea how to magic away vomit chunks.

She grimaces and moves to the corner by one of the many shelves and rests her head against the cool brick, eyes dropping closed.

She jerks awake a few moments later, not having realized she’d even dozed off, and as she falls backward she knocks into something on one of the shelves and a few seconds later hears it shatter behind her, sounding a lot like glass.

“I leave you alone for an hour and you manage to destroy an entire room. Made up of concrete.”

Regina’s arms are crossed, clad in the same outfit from earlier, an eyebrow arched, amusement touching the smirk around her lips.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Regina!” Emma rubs at the back of her head. “You couldn’t have like warned me or something before just randomly popping in?”

The amusement increases. “This is _my_ vault, dear.”

Emma blinks. “Oh. Right, yeah…uh.” Her eyes flicker to what she thinks was a vase, then to the still very disgusting pile of what used to be her breakfast. She cringes. “Sorry?”

Regina rolls her eyes and gives a flourish of her hand, the vase piecing itself back together seamlessly and the vomit disappearing in a split second.

Emma gets to her feet, dusting off her jeans.

“I’ll just – ” she points behind Regina, toward the stairs.

“Emma, wait.”

Emma stops. Turns. Feels an almost disorienting wave of déjà vu.

_I don’t want to kill you. See? That’s a start._

“We…I think we need to talk.”

Emma’s jaw constricts, cheek twitching.

“No, actually we don’t.”

She makes for the stairs again but a warm hand wraps gently around her wrist. Emma inhales sharply. _Not too warm, not too tight, not demanding, not suffocating. Perfect. Perfect, perfect, perf –_

She wrenches away from Regina and finds her eyes, a flash of understanding in them, not the least bit hurt. It _infuriates_ Emma. How _well_ Regina knows her. How Regina, instead of taking a step forward, takes one small one backward.

“We need to talk because I can’t keep quiet about it any longer.”

Regina’s eyes are fierce in a way that has Emma’s heart thumping loudly in her chest.

And Emma doesn’t _mean_ to say it out loud but really, when has her body ever listened to her brain?

“Keep quiet about what?”

Now, Regina does take a step forward, then another, and another, until she’s just a foot away from Emma.

She’s smiling.

Emma’s really confused.

“I’m going to fight for you, Emma Swan.” Emma blinks rapidly. Regina’s eyes rove across her face, stopping for a long few seconds on her lips as they part at the breathiness in Regina’s tone.

Then she meets Emma’s gaze again, breath breaking against Emma’s cheeks.

“I’ve finally made the right choice.”

Emma’s brow furrows in confusion, mind reeling, feeling like a muddled mess at this point.

Regina’s eyes are sparkling. Emma’s enthralled by them.

“ _You_.”


	5. you're not the only one who loves her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because I read somewhere that Regina and Hook hash it out maybe possibly and this is how I WISH it'd go.
> 
> 5A compliant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still doing this prompt list, I promise. 
> 
> This one is going to be 'the writer's choice' because it's too short for a stand alone one-shot and none of the lines from the list would have worked in this. 
> 
> I posted it to my tumblr as well and there's only a minor addition in this version.

"I _NEED_ her!"

Regina's eyes snap to the stairs, to the loft where Henry's asleep on Emma's bed.

" _Lower your voice_ ," she hisses. "Because if you wake my son I'll show you an entirely new meaning to that pain you're feeling right now."

They're all hurting, they're all grieving. But her son hasn't slept properly in six days and she'll kill this pirate in a mere second if his childish outburst woke Henry.

He's practically in tears as it is and while she completely understands _that_ , the way Regina needs Emma and the way Hook needs Emma is _wholly_ different.

Hook only glares at her, not even a sliver of remorse registering across his features. Regina tamps down the urge to throttle him. Just barely. 

"Look around this room, Hook. You are _not_ the only one she loves and you're certainly not the only one who loves her in return." Her voice cracks on the last words and she's too drained to feel anger at the tears building up and blurring her own vision.

Hook clenches his jaw and searches her face. Like he's assessing her, trying to discern whether he wants to believe her tacit confession or not.

But it's been weeks without answers. Weeks of dead ends and riddles they still haven't figured out and they're all _so tired_.

So like the self-righteous pirate he is, he takes another step into her personal space - she smells the rum on his breath instantly - and places his hook, curved edge cold and glinting, over her chest. Her eyes don't flicker to it. Don't leave his for a second.

"Is there something you'd like to share with us, Your Majesty?" It's a pasty leer and Regina wants to punch him.

She grinds her teeth even as she feels something shoot through her veins, something white hot and raw, and it's strong enough that she curls her hands into fists to abate it.

"Regina, what's he talking about?"

It's Snow. And she wishes she could be a bit more annoyed by the question but she feels a little off balance at that _thing_ still worming through her so she just dredges up every last ounce of irritation she has left within her and aims it at the drunken, idiotic (in a completely different way than Emma) fool in front of her.

"He's drunk," she sneers, hands moving to her hips. "Like he always is." She leans in closer to him, voice turning into something soft and mocking. "What's the matter, Hook? Don't know how to be good when you're not receiving a kiss in reward for it?"

He looks _unhinged_ at the barb and Regina only stands taller, eyes dancing with the free reign to cut. To feel something other than devastation. To let out all this anger she feels, to hone it and use it against someone. _Anyone_. To get it _out of her._

Her body buzzes with sudden emotion then and she's actually taken aback by the most prominent.

She's feeling _possessive_.

Of _Emma_.

And that _thing_ has now reached the base of her throat and she's _so confused_ by what it means but she's also _so, so angry_. She's angry at Hook, she's angry at the two idiots (in a completely different way than Emma) looking between the both of them with wide, wide eyes, she's angry at Robin who's suddenly gone silent, and she's angry at _Emma_.

By _God_ , is she absolutely  _livid_ at Emma. Because not only does she _miss_ her, not only does she feel the fruitlessness of the hope that won't stop gnawing at her fingers and toes, not only does her heart squeeze at the light leaving her son's eyes as each day passes and his mother remains lost, but she's also starting to recognize what that damned _thing_ is still weaving and working its way through her bloodstream like it belonged there all along. Like it had every goddamn _right_ to be there and it wasn't going to leave or give up. _Ever_.

"At least the love Emma and I have is pure." And Regina comes back from her thoughts with a sharp sound, a cross between a snort and a laugh. Hook's nostrils flare and before she can speak her thoughts he cuts her off.

He looks over to Robin and Regina follows his gaze. For the first time since this verbal brawl started, Regina feels her stomach drop, an uncomfortable knot forming in the pit of it. She presses her lips together, tightens her jaw.

Hook's lips upturn then, eyes catching the action.

"What Emma and I have wasn't the result of some pixie dust," he spits the words and Regina's cheek twitches. "We didn't _need_ magic to find each other, to love each other. We did that all on our own." He tosses his hook lazily in Robin's direction and Regina's eyes flicker to his. He looks as angry as she feels.

She feels Hook lean in then, feels his hot, rum-soaked breath break across her cheek, the shell of her ear. It's quiet enough that she knows it's meant only for her to hear.

"Face it, Regina. You had your chance and you missed it for someone who went crawling back to his wife the _second_ she came back. A woman you and your sister both got a hand in murdering, ay?"

She veers back at that, anger leaving her body in a split second, ice filling up the holes left behind. She gives him a shove hard enough that he stumbles backwards and he only chuckles roughly, a glint in his eyes that makes Regina feel sick.

Robin's up and off the barstool he'd been sitting on, face drawn up and clenched, looking like he's intent on grabbing Hook. Snow rushes forward, eyes red-rimmed but ever concerned, and David - who'd been the closest to her and Hook - is looking at her with shock.

Regina gives one last frantic look to Robin, who's just caught her gaze and is furrowing his brow now, then one last look to David, who tilts his head, before she raises up her hands and disappears in a flourish of purple.


	6. you're not the only one who loves her (but maybe I'm just confused)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I honestly have NO idea what this is. And as I do most one-shots that are completely unbidden and totally borne of procrastination, I wrote this in about an hour. So, like most things I write quickly, there are probably more than a few mistakes. Blah, blah, ignore them, sorry, blah. 
> 
> Also. This COULD possibly be a companion piece to the previous chapter? Maybe? Probably? 
> 
> Idk. But I do know that I left this kind of at a cliffhanger for a reason.

“You love her.”

She whirls around, hands breaking apart where she’d been wringing them feverishly.

“Robin,” she gasps, moving to tuck a thick of hair behind her ear. “What are you – ”

“Emma,” he says, softly, brow furrowed, eyes searching her own. “You love her.” Again, it’s not a question.

Regina swallows, eyes moving to the floor, her hands – they’re trembling now. She clasps them together once more. Squeezes. _Hard_.

“She’s my son’s mother.”

Even to her own ears it’s a weak reply. A weak evasion.

Robin gives a soft chuckle, head tilting, eyes keen.

“Regina…”

And she’s _angry_. She’s angry at that tattoo on his right wrist, bared by the rolled up sleeve of his shirt. She’s angry at his gentle tone, the _understanding_ shining in his kind eyes. The awareness in them. Like he knows every edge and curve of her insides, sees the darkness forever stitched into her tissues and muscles and is okay with it, _accepts_ it. Like he can see not just his named etched into her heart but Emma’s as well.

He’s looking at her as if that doesn’t matter to him. As if he’s completely fine with her heart not fully belonging to him. Like it’s just something they can overcome together. Will only grow stronger because of.

It _infuriates_ her.

“Of _course_ I care about her, Robin. She sacrificed her soul for me. For my _happiness_.” She gives a jaunty wave of her hand toward him then, eyes piercing.

Robin’s brow furrows and he takes a step closer to her. “Regina…I know you’re upset and I understand – ”

“You _understand_?” She gives a harsh laugh then, something that bounces off the walls of her vault around them. “What exactly is it that you understand, Robin? How it feels to have someone you used to _loathe_ , someone you’d once spent _months_ trying to eradicate, sacrifice their entire _being_ for you? Or perhaps you know what it feels like to find that you no longer can even find _reason_ to hate said person and actually spend most of your days trying to understand how someone so _utterly_ impulsive and foolish and _stupid_ can make you feel so completely _dismantled_ all of the time.”

She’s crying now. She knows because her voice is wobbling. Know because it cracks, tapers off near the end. She knows because she feels her throat constrict, feels the hot tears rolling down her cheeks, burning at her eyelids.

Robin rushes forward then, face contorted in sympathy, arm outstretched, but she stumbles backward, head shaking, eyes on his tattoo.

 _Soulmate_.

“No,” she whispers feebly. “No. I need you to leave.”

“Regina, please, let me – ”

“I said _leave_!” Her voice booms about the walls and he retracts his hand as if burned. Winces. Gives her this awful look of longing. To comfort her.

She turns her back to it, feels tears prick at her eyes again. This time for him.

Because she loves him. Truly she does. And it simply _aches_ when she hears his boots against the stairs, fading until it’s completely silent once again, save for her shallow breathing.

She loves him. He’s her _soulmate_. And all of her life, all she’s ever wanted was true love. Happiness. _Freedom_.

And there was a time, a brief moment when her and Robin first started, where she truly thought she could be happy with them. Felt full with the possibility of a future with him.

And then it was spoiled. Turned a sickly green color by a woman she still can’t bring herself to fully hate.

And she had wanted to blame Emma for the entire thing, still wants to sometimes. Because then it would be easy, wouldn’t it? So _,_ so _easy_.

But she doesn’t. And truthfully she doesn’t blame Zelena either. How can she when she herself had committed equally horrific acts for the sake of a hole unfilled by the same cruel fate woven by their mother?

Her entire life she’s been nothing but a passenger, hands too tightly bound by the ropes around her wrists to even attempt to take the wheel. And even when she could? It was because she’d been allotted the opportunity, because her doing so benefited the person who had untied those ropes for her.

She’s never known free will. She’s never had someone come into her life that wasn’t already destined into it by some higher hand.

Including Emma.

The difference with her? She was never meant to befriend her. She was never meant to save her life. She was never meant to care for her. She was never meant to fall _in_ _love_ with her.

But there’s something so very enthralling about ‘shouldn’t be’s and ‘never meant to’s.

There’s something about her and Emma both being held up together by strings, like some sort of perverted puppet show, that draws her to the other woman.

Something about _our son_ and _I made you a promise I intend to keep_ that fits so perfectly within the tiny notches of space between her stitches. Makes them lighter. Makes _her_ lighter.

Because Emma’s seen her at her very worst. As the frigid mayor, as a woman hell bent on satiating her revenge, as a devastated mother, lonely and broken, _empty_ , save for her anger. As the Evil Queen.

And yet she’s the _only_ person in this entire town who has only ever viewed her as the woman underneath all of that. All of that pain, that rage, that crippling desire to cut as deeply as she’d been her entire life.

Emma saw her for _her_. And it used to be _maddening_. How much she _didn’t_ scare her. How Emma saw _right_ through all of her façades.

It used to boil under her skin.

Now it just _aches_. It aches in a different way than lion tattoos and calloused, warm hands. 

It makes her stomach heave and her chest tighten; elicits an inexorable trickle of uncertainty into her mind. 

Because Emma was destined into her life just as Robin was. Because there'd been a page with her kissing him instead of walking away from him and she wonders (more often than she probably should) if there's one with her kissing Emma. Wonders if perhaps there's an alternate reality, one that touches this one, where instead of years of acrimony between them, there's love. 

Because Emma has a pirate and yet she’d given not a moment’s thought, not a hitch of hesitation that night when the darkness had been swirling around her, inky black tendrils itching to latch themselves onto her, weave inside of her, _engulf_ her.

Because it seems everyone knows of her feelings except the very person those feelings are _for_ and it’s awful. It’s _terrible_.

It’s so _unfair_ and she doesn’t understand _why_ this is all happening to her _now_.

Why it couldn’t have happened a year ago before she’d even known who Robin Hood was.

Before Marian and Zelena and babies that weren’t supposed to be growing inside bellies and lives that weren’t meant to be ruined.

Before _what do you see in me?_ and _a second chance._

She doesn’t understand what she feels for Emma just as she doesn’t understand _why_ she would sacrifice herself like that so willingly. 

_You’ve worked too hard to have your happiness destroyed!_

It plays on a loop inside her mind. It bombards it, supersedes it. And it does so at the most inopportune times.

Like now when she’s trying to _stop_ tears from falling.

Everything is _wrong_ and everything _hurts_ and she’s _so._ _so_. _tired._

Her eyes find the dagger near the large pile of books she’s been vigorously searching through the past few weeks.

Hook, naturally, had professed that he should be the one entrusted with it but after a few exchanged (very loud) words, it was agreed upon (him begrudgingly) that she be the one to keep hold of it. If only because she was the only one within the group who had magical capabilities.

If she was being honest with herself though, a large part of her felt entitled to it. _She_ was the one Emma had saved. And as Hook so _helpfully_ supplied _you’re not the only one she saved, love,_ she _knows_ it wasn’t _just_ for her. But _you’ve worked too hard to have your happiness destroyed_ isn’t exactly something one says when they have the town’s wellbeing in mind and though it truly didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, it mattered to _her_ and she was damn well going to take it personally.

She owes Emma her life. And though she _abhors_ debts, she thinks this one isn’t so terrible. Finds she can’t wait to pay it because that means if she _has_ , Emma will have been found. Will be _here_.

She bends to pick the dagger up, runs her thumb along the engraved name. _Emma_ _Swan_.

Her stomach does its usual flip at feeling the syllables of Emma’s name beneath her fingertips. Knowing she’s in another realm somewhere. _Lost_.

 _She’s lost again. Because of_ you _._

 _That_ particular brand of guilt comes next. Right on time. It floods through her and she falls to the bench with the weight of it, vision blurring. She screws her eyes shut against it, tightens her hold on the dagger, sucks in a sharp breath when a wave of sharp pain radiates through her left palm.

Her eyes fly open just in time to see a rivulet of blood trickle down her wrist. She stares blankly at it, an odd sort of tingling now traveling its way up her arm, through her chest, her entire body. It’s _warm_. And just as she watches a few crimson droplets splash against the onyx of her slacks, that warmth turns into searing heat.

It scalds her palm where her right hand is still holding the hilt of the dagger and it clatters to the floor as she gasps out at the pain.

The room starts to spin, the gash in her left palm _throbbing_ and she balls it into a fist, her own nails digging into the wound completely unfelt over the blinding heat rippling through her entire hand now.

Her right one shoots out to wrap around her left wrist, an attempt to cut the circulation off there, to _stop the pain,_ but it does nothing. If anything it makes it worse and she cries out at the sensation, at the feeling of a crescendo.

And then there’s one last surge, her teeth gritted and body tense, tense, tense, before she jolts forward, a shock of white emanating out of her left hand and into the farthest wall in her vault.

She watches as white turns into a bright azure and, as if powered by an electric current, dissipates and settles along the brick of the wall, forming a large circular entity, buzzing and forming to shape something distinctly familiar.

A _mirror_.

But it isn’t her own reflection she sees staring back at her.

It's the one person she’d prayed to multiple gods to find. The one person whose fate intertwines with her own. That one other person carved parallel to Robin in her heart. She gasps. 

“ _Emma_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That reason being I got really tired of this really quickly. 
> 
> That's why it's in my drabbles section. Nifty little things. 
> 
> Anyway, I just want to say I see and love every single one of you people and I just started my last year of university so updates on 'a mistake' will be even MORE delayed (hey, no throwing heavy things - they leave bruises) but I PROMISE whenever I have time, I write for it. 
> 
> Kisses. Hugs. Chocolate. Lovely things. I'm very tired. Mwah <3


	7. have you lost your damn mind!?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had this written for a while but initially thought I'd turn it into a long, multi-chaptered fic so I didn't post it. I'm not very good at those though and I lose interest more easily than I can keep hold of it so this will just remain as a prompt fill for this particular list. 
> 
> Seriously, I will finish it if it is the last goddamn thing I do. 
> 
> Um, this is set somewhere near the end of season 2 I think. Basically, Owen somehow gets ahold of some magic, is completely hell-bent on ruining Regina's life like she did his, and casts a curse. Where everyone is trapped in an insane asylum with new memories. Regina's the only one who remembers everything. 
> 
> My muse and I just made this up one night on the spot with the one line in mind so any mistakes or divergences from canon are entirely my own and completely intended (probably).

She hears the familiar click of very familiar heels sounding down the hall and she closes her eyes, mentally preparing herself for the day that was to come.

  
The _hell_ , her mind grouses.

  
She still hasn’t wrapped her brain around an Emma in heels as a daily occurrence and she winces as she moves to a sitting position, hand flying to her left temple, hissing when even the light touch of her fingertips sends a wave of pain through the left side of her face down into her jaw.

  
Her Emma wore clunky boots over skin tight jeans with gaudy leather jackets and a lopsided grin that was simultaneously smug and adorable.

  
Regina stops short, mouth parting, hand stilling mid-air.

  
_Adorable_? Had she just referred to – it was official. She truly _was_ insane.

  
There’s that goddamned _chipper_ , perfunctory succession of three raps on her door before it opens to that goddamned _smile_ and curls, curls, curls instead of a tight bun.

  
Regina blinks and her mouth is moving a second too quickly for her brain to stop it. “Your hair is down.”

  
Emma lets out a breathy ‘oh!’ followed by a hand darting up to finger at a few of those loose curls, looking slightly chagrined.

Regina’s head tilts at the sight. She’s never seen a _bashful_ Emma Swan before and she’s not entirely sure what to make of it.

  
“I – yes. Henry’s coming for a visit today so – ”

  
Regina’s heart jolts and then picks up in speed, her skin prickling with excitement before it morphs into gnawing, something like anxiety, something a little like grief.

  
Her words are barely a whisper. “Henry’s coming here?”

  
Emma looks immediately apologetic, wincing before shifting on her feet. _That_ quirk, it seems, was the same in whichever world Emma was in.

  
“Yes,” Emma says. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have - ”

  
“This is an insane asylum,” Regina says, knee jerk happiness (that she couldn’t even _try_ to extinguish) at possibly getting even a glimpse of her son and its accompanying nausea at the reality that she _won’t_ giving way to building anger.

  
“Yes,” Emma says, head tilting, confused.

  
“Have you lost your damn _mind_!? You’re going to allow _our_ _son_ to come and visit you _here_? A place where just yesterday I watched some man jack off into his cheerios? Are you sure _you_ don’t need to be admitted, Miss Swan?”

  
Emma’s eyes have long closed, forefinger and thumb pinching at the bridge of her nose, and when she opens them again her green eyes are weary.

  
“Regina,” she starts off and Regina stiffens. She knows that tone. It’s _that_ tone. That tone all the ‘doctors’ use at this godforsaken place.

  
The _we’ve talked about this, there is no curse_ tone.

  
Regina _hates_ that tone.

  
But she hates the one Emma’s using right now even more. Because this particular one is entwined with the _you don’t have a son, Regina_ tone that always sounds like the perfect mixture of sympathy and pity. Regina can tolerate many things. Being pitied isn’t one of them.

  
“We’ve talked about this, you have to – ” she heaves an exasperated sigh, “Henry isn’t our son, Regina. You don’t ha – ”

  
“ _Don’t_ say it,” Regina says sharply, feeling the beginnings of a headache needle at her temples.

  
“Regina,” Emma says again, a firmer lilt in her register, the ‘doctor’ in her starting to filter through. She’s exceptionally patient with Regina, has been for the four months that Regina’s been in this place ( _that_ had taken quite a bit of getting used to – patience in Emma Swan, toward her no less), but this subject, of course, Regina won’t ( _ever_ ) let go and it seems it’s starting to take its toll on this Emma.

  
Regina lifts her chin, eyes challenging.

  
Emma sighs again, rubbing at her forehead. “Do you want to go through another session of ECT?” Her eyes lock hard onto Regina’s. “Because if you don’t stop with this delusion, Regina, that’s exactly where you’ll end up.” Here, she leans forward to brush at the hair at her temple, fingertips just barely grazing over the angry, raised skin there. Regina hisses and jerks away. Emma doesn’t apologize but she does retract her hand back to her side, her eyes on the abrasion. “They went too far last night.”

  
Regina starts at the fury in her voice, the flare of her nostrils.

  
“I’ll talk to Owen – they can’t – ” she shakes her head, sucking in a sharp breath as if to calm herself. “Patients shouldn’t be treated like that. _You_ shouldn’t be treated like that.”

  
Electroconvulsive therapy had been something of a last resort. After the third month of Regina’s ‘delusion’ not having lessened in its intensity in the slightest, it’d been decided that frying her brain was the next step.

  
It had been Emma who’d fought for her, had pleaded with Owen to _just give me more time with her._

  
Regina had blanched at that. At Emma’s vehemence, at her _care_. _For her_. It was jarring. She couldn’t conceive of an Emma who blatantly fought to help her as opposed to against her. But there she had been, trembling fists and bright, bright eyes, and Owen had given her two weeks – a suspiciously generous offer, one that Regina’s still trying to piece apart the motive behind.

  
“I’m not going to allow them to take my son away from me,” Regina says, feeling as if Emma’s about to give her another one of those _perhaps you could just pretend that you’ve accepted this as reality so they stop with the ECT treatments_ speeches and she’s not in the mood for them any day, but she’s especially not in the mood for one now.

  
“Regina – ”

  
“No, you listen to me, Miss Swan – ”

  
“Emma.”

  
Regina’s nostrils flare. “Yes, I’m well aware of your name, thank you,” she snaps before continuing, “I am not making up these ‘grand delusions’ because I’m bereft over the fact that I can’t bear children, I am not escaping from the pain my mother caused by creating some alternate fantasy world, and I most certainly am not _crazy_.”

  
“You are the insufferably stubborn other mother of my child, the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming, we live in a town that I created, where we never get along, and I insult you as often as possible and enjoy it immensely.”

  
“I think you forgot to add the ‘annoyingly attractive’ bit,” Emma says with a wry smile, an expression she’s never seen before on the blonde. Certainly never directed at _her_.

  
Regina balks. “I’ve never once said – ” she stops when she hears Emma’s laughter and her cheek twitches before she narrows her eyes and gives Emma a hard look. “I hate you.”

  
“Ah,” Emma muses on another chuckle, “now we both know that’s not true.”

  
Regina’s struck numb then with the horrifying thought that Emma actually looks really beautiful like this, in this moment. Soft edges and crinkling eyes. None of the hardness around her mouth or the permanent scowl in her brow like her Emma. In this world, here, Emma is a woman who’s intrinsically light-hearted and gentle. A woman untouched by the adversities of her past, of foster systems and a child created and a child given up.

  
Here, she’s a doctor who’s fierce in her care for her patients, a woman Regina can’t help but _not_ hate.

  
It’s maddening, and considering that the word adorable had blipped through her brain earlier with Emma in mind, it’s giving Regina serious pause to her fervent speech just moments prior.

  
She had also been subjected to electrocution not even 10 hours ago. She sincerely hopes that’s what it is.

  
A thought occurs to her then and she tilts her head, looking up at Emma in something akin to wonder.

  
“Why do you care so much?”

  
Emma’s brow furrows. “About you or just in general?”

  
Regina blinks at the question, an odd sort of flutter in her chest at Emma’s need for clarification.

  
“About me,” Regina says, voice hoarse from that damn flutter. She clears her throat against it.

  
“Because I’m not that Emma from your other world. Because you’re my patient, Regina, and I want to help you,” Emma says with a soft smile.

  
Regina’s flutter turns into disappointment and she doesn’t understand why she wants to suddenly wrap her arms around herself. “Oh,” she says, eyes tracing the blue outline of _Dr. Swan_ on the pocket of Emma’s white lab coat. “Right,” her voice is a little stronger this time, “of course.”

  
Emma looks confused, concern wrinkling her brow slightly, and she uncrosses her legs and shifts forward in the steel chair she’s currently sat in, the one she always sits in, clipboard pressing into her abdomen with the movement. Regina isn’t sure why her gaze lingers on the taut muscles she can see through the tight blouse Emma’s wearing under her lab coat.

  
“Regina,” Emma says, voice very soft, “you do know that just because you’re my patient and it’s my job to care for you, to help you, it doesn’t mean I don’t care for you as a person, right?”

  
Regina rolls her eyes and scoots back on the bed so her back is against the cool wall, crossing her legs at the ankles, the itchy fabric of her white scrubs making her wince with the movement. “I don’t need to be coddled, Doctor. I’m sure I can handle not having you read me bed time stories and braid my hair every night before lights out.”

  
Emma sits up straight at that, blinking a few times, looking a little hurt at Regina’s comment, and there’s another flutter that Regina doesn’t understand.

  
Emma shakes her head, as if to clear herself of her thoughts, and gives a breathy chuckle before standing. “Well alright then, let’s get you down to the cafeteria for some grade A, not at all processed, breakfast.”

  
Emma opens the door for her, a smirk on her lips as Regina stands and glares at her.  
“Your jokes are terrible, Emma.”

  
Emma’s eyes widen and after a beat so do Regina’s. She makes a show of covering her heart, gasping dramatically.

  
“You called me by my first name.”

  
Regina rolls her eyes, making a show of her own that Emma’s being _ridiculous_ and it’s not as if it will become a regular _thing_ , Regina saying her first name. She mentally kicks herself for her slip.

  
“Don’t get used to it, Doctor,” Regina says as Emma opens the door to the cafeteria. “I still hate you.”

 

* * *

  
  
After saying goodbye to Regina and promising to check in on her later, Emma had left her in the cafeteria, other patients needing to be attended to, and after a gritty bowl of what Regina sincerely hopes was oatmeal, she was in her – now usual – spot by the one large window in the commons.

  
It looked out over the entirety of the complex and had Regina still had her privilege to a day outside, she’d be under that particularly large oak tree just below where a deep mahogany bench resided beneath the shade.

  
But she’d had an outburst, right before her first ECT session – Emma had been teary eyed and subdued, her gaze meeting Regina’s once, a myriad of different emotions in them - the most prominent being one of apology - before she’d pressed her clipboard to her chest, turned, and walked briskly down the hallway and around the corner, out of sight – so she’d gotten all of her privileges revoked. Including her favorite, which had been the right to one day a week outside.

  
It was sunny today, the large expanse of forest past the grounds, the large stone wall and iron gate; it all seemed so…welcoming. Completely discordant with the ambience that was the inside of the asylum.

  
Perhaps that was the point. Owen certainly was mad enough. She supposes (and understands) haboring years worth of unutilized anger toward someone will do that to a person. 

  
Lull the admitted into thinking they’re going to be well taken care of, that their food won’t sometimes have narcotics in them, that they won’t possibly get raped or murdered by one of the patients (or the doctors – aside from Emma), that they won’t suddenly disappear and never come back.

  
A false sense of security before having it ripped right from under their feet. Yes, that sounds right up Owen's alley. Especially if _she’s_ one of those patients.

  
Not for the first time since she’s been here she wonders what would have become of her had Emma not been her doctor, had Owen not cast her into the curse.

  
She also, again, definitely not for the first time, wonders why Owen chose Emma of all people to be his _wife_.

  
But then she remembers the answer, as she had realized within the first week of his gloating, and balls her hands into fists on the tops of her thighs.

  
Because Owen’s intention for this entire curse was to hurt her in every way possible.

  
Every single way.

  
So he’d named the asylum after Henry. He’d made Emma his wife (she thinks that one was more to get under her skin than anything, which it _does_ ), Whale one of her other consulting doctors (he’d been the one to hold her down and stuff the rubber in her mouth during her first electroshock session…and the many since – she’s going to set fire to that little rodent whenever she gets out of this), and he’d made Henry his and Emma’s son.

  
_Her_ son who she hadn’t seen in four months and three days.

  
_Her_ son who was coming to the asylum.

  
_Her_ son who was now walking up the cobbled sidewalk just past the gate, waving goodbye at a black car just beyond its mouth.

  
She jolts up and her hands thud against the windowpane when she presses her entire body into it, a brief puff against the glass as she exhales, “ _Henry_.”

  
He’s running toward the front doors and her eyes don’t leave his figure until it disappears under the large stone arch that precedes the main entrance.

  
And then she’s sprinting. Toward the main doors of the commons and down the three flights of steps, completely ignoring the shouts she receives, just making it to the lobby where she can see his mop of brown hair and bright, happy smile, a sticker with his sloppy scrawl on it, making out the letters of his name, as one of the nurses guides him to the sitting area.

  
Where Owen and Emma are.

  
She feels panic rip through her, her chance slimming by the second, and just as she feels two sets of hands wrap around her biceps, she yells ‘Henry!’ and every single head turns toward her, including Emma’s and Owen’s.

  
But she only has eyes for Henry.

  
He’s still smiling when he turns to find her eyes. But then it slides off his face and he only tilts his head, scrunching up his features in confusion, completely void of recognition, before turning back toward Emma with a “should I know her, Mom?”

  
Emma’s all wide eyes and stricken visage and she shakes her head before brushing his bangs back from his forehead (and oh, Regina’s heart _squeezes_ at that).

  
“No, sweetheart,” she hears her say. And he nods before turning to give her a smile, something lopsided and friendly, as Emma beckons over a nurse and has her take Henry outside to the front quad.

  
She struggles under the hands now cutting off her circulation they’re gripping so fiercely and she watches as Henry’s back gets further and further away from her, the nurse’s hand at the small of his back, ruffling his hair and _no_.

  
_No, no_ , _no_.

  
That’s her son. _Her_ _son_.

  
So Regina wrenches and kicks and she realizes she’s been crying out his name over and over again but he’s outside now and he can’t hear her.

She can see him through the window, past Emma and Owen who’s now slowly approaching her with eyes too clear and demeanor too calm, a hand lifted, a syringe in its grasp. But she can’t stop yelling Henry’s name. Can’t stop yelling ‘he’s my son, please. _Please_ , let me see him – _Henry_!’

  
Her throat is raw and burning, her screams now gravelly and cracking and echoing off the walls, the windows.

  
She locks eyes with Emma then, too distraught, in too much _pain_ to keep herself from outright begging and so she screams again, this time at her.

  
“Emma! _Emma_ , please – please, _do_ something! Please don’t let them take my son away from me!”

  
Emma’s crying, her hands knotted together and bottom lip trembling. She’s shaking her head back and forth, giving Regina a look so full of sadness and guilt and _pity_ and Regina’s vision blurs again and she’s _angry_.

  
She’s angry, angry, angry.

  
She’s angry at Emma and her pity, she’s angry at Owen and his goddamn _insanity_ , she’s angry at the two men holding her back, keeping her from her son, she’s angry at all the eyes staring at her, replete with that _goddamned_ _pity_ she can’t stand, and she’s angry at the world.

  
All she wants is to see her son for _five goddamn minutes_.

  
“You told me you’d protect me! That you would help me!”

  
She’s delirious now, truly acting every bit her diagnosis and she can’t even begin to care. She just wants to see Henry. _Needs_ it like something visceral, _insatiable_.

  
Emma’s hand shoots up to her mouth and through the haze of her own tears and the pounding in her ears, Regina sees Emma’s body shake with her sobs.

  
And then her feet are being swept from underneath her and her left cheek presses harshly into the cool tile of the floor, her hands bound behind her back.

  
There’s a sharp sting in her upper arm and she slurs out Henry’s name once more before everything starts to droop and melt and then, go completely black.


	8. wanna dance?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is written a little differently than my usual stuff. Style wise, I guess. It's actually a personal piece I turned into a SwanQueen one-shot because it fit perfectly with this prompt number. 
> 
> College Regina and Emma where Regina is a dancer at a club Emma frequents and Emma's enamored with her. And she's pissed off about it. It's pretty out of character for both of them I think but I am really, really determined to get this prompt list done so let's just call this incredibly AU.

"Wanna dance?"

You blink a few times, blurriness giving way to dark curls and a familiar face. _Her_ face.

"I'm very, very drunk right now."

A hand on your thigh. A smirk. Goddamn _fucking_ brown eyes.

"Yes, I can see that."

"You're also very, very beautiful." Hiccup. Giggle.

An eyebrow arch. A flutter of nails along the inseam of your jeans.

"I think that's the alcohol talking."

Is she purring or are you just really drunk? Well, you are really drunk but is her voice always that low? Purring. Yes. Like a cat. You don't like cats, you're allergic - is her hand moving?

Yes. Yes it is.

The hitching of breath. Your breath. You choke on your drink. Her hand stills but her nails do not.

"Nope," you croak, shaking your head back and forth, the sting of the alcohol on your throat making your voice sound like it's been scraped across sandpaper a few times. "Not just the alcohol." You sip at the straw in your drink. Something fruity. Something you've had like eight of. "You're very beautiful always. And sexy. But obviously you have to know that." You try at a laugh. It sounds strangled. You wince.

A head tilt. The hand moves again. _Languid_ , your brain murmurs.

"Why do I have to know that?"

You give her a look. She's ridiculous. "Because you do _that_." You wave a hand in her direction.

She chuckles. Bites her lip. She has a scar above the top one. You stare at it. Want to run your tongue along the notch of it. You want to take the entire lip into your mouth. You want to know what it tastes like. What _she_ tastes like. You want to see her reaction to it. You want her to want you. Want you desperately and want you enough to be reckless with it.

You want her to _own_ you. You want her to shove and yank and _rake_ and you want her to leave marks. Angry and red and stinging. You want it to _hurt_. (You can actually hear her teasing you about how so very transparent you are with your masochism in your head). You want it to make her bite her lip like that again.

You want her to _ruin_ you.

And you picture this. Many times. Most times. Times you shouldn't. Like at work. Like when you miss what your boss says to you twice and you have to ask them to repeat themselves for the third time. You picture this and you picture it often. And you wonder. You wonder if she does too.

You wonder what she's thinking now. You wonder when the exact moment will be that she decides she's bored with you. You hope it isn't too soon because you don't think you'd ever tire of her.

You wonder if she knows this. You think she must. You wonder, wonder, wonder. And then you realize she's asked you a question and you're just staring at those eyes you'd been properly warned about and probably should have taken to heart more because _fuck_ if they don't make you feel like your knees are jello and your tongue something foreign and awkward.

"What?"

Another chuckle. Low and rumbling. "I asked what _this_ ," she mimics your hand motion to herself (her opposite hand, not the one still on your thigh, fingers drawing mindless patterns), "means."

"Oh," your eyes flicker to her body before tipping back up to her eyes. Between the two you think her eyes are the safer option. Maybe. "Um..." because you're drunk, yes, but this girl could make you feel your nervousness in the balls of your goddamn feet even if you'd been hit in the face with a fucking tranquilizer.

She scares the shit out of you and you think, you think that if she knew the extent of it she'd probably smile and bite her goddamn lip again, move her hand a little higher. Or find you creepy and never touch you again. You're not exactly sure which one would be worse.

"Because you like dance and stuff...and like - you know? You're confident too." _Also, your fingers are about two inches away from making me fucking break this glass in my hand, but hey, stitches are always fun._

You're going to be angry at her later. It's a new development. Anger toward her. Anger because you want more from her. Anger because you want more from her but you can't take. Only receive.

You'd always been good at receiving. At never taking more than what's being offered to you. And actually you're not sure you want to take anything from her at all.

You're not sure about a lot of things when it comes to her. You barely even know her. But you've done a lot of thinking. Many times. Most times. Like when you're driving and you almost miss the turn to your own fucking apartment and you almost swerve off the road because you overcompensated a little in the jerking of the wheel and yeah, you think, not for the first time, that this girl is literally going to end up killing you.

You're not sure you want to take anything from her. But you are sure you want her to take everything from you. You want her to take until there's nothing left of you. Until you're panting and slick and mindless with your own desire. Until the seams and stitches that make up the outlines of your body are unraveled and in shreds at your feet. You want her to take, take, take.

You want her to shove and yank and _rake_.

Someone comes up behind her. Leans in and whispers something in her ear. The music's loud. Everyone has to lean in. It makes you want to dig your nails into the top of her hand so she can't move it.

Her eyes don't leave yours. She nods.

She moves her hand and you don't move yours from your drink. She doesn't say anything to you. She gets up. Walks away.

You wonder how long it'll be until you finally blurt out all the things you so fervently try to keep in.

You wonder, wonder, wonder.

And there's the anger again. This time though you're more angry at yourself for not saying all those things you're fucking well _dying_ to say to her. For being a goddamn pansy.

You're angry at her because this isn't something she thinks about all the time. You're angry at her because she doesn't have a mind that incessantly bombards her with images of what she most certainly should not be wanting. You're angry at her because you know she doesn't see you that way, isn't into you, doesn't find you attractive. It's just a game to her. Something fun. Something entertaining to pass the time. You're angry at her because you _do_ see her that way, you very much _are_ into her, and you most _certainly_ find her attractive. This isn't a game to you, though you've always liked the principle of cat and mouse (you're, of course, always the mouse. You briefly wonder how many dissertations could be written about your affinity to be used and dragged about like a rag doll). There's something different about her and you wish with all your might that it was anyone else.

You're angry at her because she's like this to everyone. You're angry at her because it doesn't affect her the way it affects you. You're angry at her for making you angry at her all the time.

You're angry at her for making you want her like this. For making you feel unhinged and unfocused and twitchy. You're very twitchy around her. Twitchy because you want to touch. Twitchy because she isn't touching you enough. Twitchy because you twitch when you're nervous and you twitch when you're trying to keep your face still and your muscles from jumping.

You're angry and you're curious and you're drunk and you're most certainly turned on but mostly you're just angry. Because you want her to shove and yank and _rake_.

You want her to _own_ you.

You want her to _ruin_ you.

And you shouldn't want that at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I've been working on chapter four of 'a mistake' for the last hour or two so I might have an update by this weekend? Possibly? *fingers crossed*


	9. you need to stop leaving dead bodies in my kitchen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is actually from another prompt list that I've had brewing in the back of my mind even before Dark One Emma became a thing. 
> 
> I've read so many Dark One Emma fics since this idea blossomed that my perception of her is just an amalgamation of like fifteen different others. So yeah. 
> 
> I'm actually very drunk right now and this was meant to be a crack!fic...because honestly, with a chapter title like that how could it not be? Welp. It not be. 
> 
> Also, I did that dumb switch-POV-in-the-middle-of-the-one-shot-that's-disorganized-and-annoying-Ashley-how-dare-you-do-that thing. So, whoops. Sorry. 
> 
> Those dashes took more time than I will ever admit to typing. 
> 
> If this makes no sense, blame it on the a-a-a-a-a-alcohol.

"Emma," Regina sighs as she steps over the corpse and goes about making her coffee, "you need to stop leaving dead bodies in my kitchen."

She doesn't spare a second glance to the crumpled form not twelve inches to her right foot and Emma blinks back an outright gape.

Regina continues her admonishment, hair lightly tousled from sleep and robe drooping a bit around the middle where it ties together. Her caramel eyes are more amused than aghast and Emma balls her hands into fists and grinds her back teeth.

"This is the third time this week. If your goal is to shock me I have to say you're doing a lousy job, dear." She waves a lazy hand toward the body of King Arthur. "Besides, he should have been disposed of weeks ago. You did the town a favor with this one."

She arches a brow and looks decidedly too complacent with her teasing. Like it's normal, _enjoyable_ even. Emma draws herself up, affecting sangfroid, and runs her fingernails along the grooves of the island.

"Perhaps I'll leave the body of your beloved Robin Hood beneath the coffee pot next time."

 _That_ , it seems, gets the desired reaction.

Regina's in her face in an instant, mouth twisting in rage, eyes piercing and dark and _oh_.

Emma's body _sings_ with satisfaction at hitting a tender spot (one of the many Emma's harboring in her arsenal), at eliciting this kind of unbridled emotion from Regina.

Here, as The Dark One, she has a particular affinity for a volatile Regina.

"If you so much as lay a finger on him, Emma Swan, I'll - "

Emma's eyes glitter, crimson lips a serpentine grin.

"You'll what?"

Regina stops short, face contorted into a sneer before it smooths out, shifts in an instant to recognition.

She laughs. Shakes her head. Takes a sizable step backward.

"So is that what you're after then? A _reaction_ from me?"

Emma's cheek twitches and she feels a cold kind of anger slither through her veins. That anger that whispers things (it's in her own voice now, not Gold's) like _because of them you endured 28 years of pain; rip them limb from limb, make them suffer,_ hisses things like _he only loves you when you're The Savior, end him_ , and takes that hot, familiar, _controllable_ anger she'd always felt before and ices it over, thickens it, molds it into a weapon, aimed and ready.

Of course, anger has always been closest to the surface with Regina.

"I should have known The Evil Queen wouldn't bat an eye over a bloodied, mangled corpse. Tell me, Your Majesty, how many men and women have you murdered? How many _children_?"

" _Enough_ , Emma." Regina sets her mug down with a hard clink, mind wondering to Henry still asleep just above them. "No more games, no more baiting. _What_ do you want from me?"

"I want," Emma grits out, feeling the crackle of her magic on her fingertips, "you to acknowledge that I am The Dark One. I want you to give up on this futile quest to save me, to save _Emma_. She no longer exists here. I want you bereft and aching. I want you to beg me to stop killing the citizens of your precious little town." Emma stalks forward and grabs at Regina's chin, fingers splayed across her cheek, thumb caressing at her jawbone. "I want you to finally accept the fact that I am like this because of _you_." She runs a nail across a bare bottom lip, watching as it parts with the action. "I want you _broken_ , Regina. And I want to _revel_ in it."

She constricts her fingers, nails digging into soft, pliant skin, before shoving at Regina's face and chuckling as she steps away. As Regina stumbles backward.

"Have fun scrubbing the King's entrails from your kitchen tile."

She disappears in a cloud of smoky grey.

Regina sags against the island and exhales shakily.

"Mom?"

Regina jolts.

"Henry," she exhales, wriggling her fingers behind her back, King Arthur's body disappearing in a haze of purple, Henry still too sleep addled to notice. She breathes a quiet sigh of relief as she moves to the fridge to grab the milk for his cereal. "How did you sleep?"

He shuffles over and slumps against the island, bleary eyes narrowed and arms folded across the counter.

"Mom was here. Why?"

Regina's hand stills over the jug and she closes her eyes.

"I'm not altogether certain," she lies. She can't tell him that his mother wants to twist her until she breaks. Can't tell him she's been killing people just to prove something to her.

Henry grabs the Frosted Flakes from the cupboard and a bowl and a spoon from the drainer.

"Yeah, you're a terrible liar, Mom. Whatever it is, I can handle it. What did she want?"

Regina hands him the milk when he reaches for it and sighs. She settles on a half-truth, her desire to protect him, protect his love for Emma, stronger than the one gnawing at her to never lie to her son again.

"She came to flaunt her new identity."

It's more of a sneer than she meant it to be and she thumbs at the lip of her mug, tries not to think of the emptiness in Emma's eyes.

"She didn't try to take the dagger back?" Henry asks around a mouthful of his cereal.

Regina gives him a reproachful eyebrow and he wipes a few dribbles of milk from his chin and gives her a sheepish, closed-mouth grin as he chews.

She can't help the smile that tugs at the corners of her mouth and she rolls her eyes, her heart, for a brief, flickering moment, feeling full, _warm_ with her son's sheepish grins and questionable (she blames that year in New York and Emma _entirely_ ) manners.

"No," Regina says, eyes falling to her now lukewarm coffee. She moves to pour it down the drain and rinses out the mug, a dull thunk echoing in the kitchen as she places it in the sink to be washed after Henry's finished his breakfast.

"We'll figure out a way to save her, Mom." He shrugs like it's the simplest fact in the world. "We always do." He's grinning up at her again, her little prince, her knight in shining armor. His unwavering belief in her, in their _family_ (after too many months of _I found my real mom_ and _you made me feel like I was crazy_ ), always surprising her. Always leaving her breathless.

And Emma wants to hurt her, wants to break her, Robin is exasperated with her - a slowly building anger, a bitter type of resentment she knows all too well seeping its way into his kind, kind eyes - and Henry still has yet to waver. There's a stubbornness in his jaw these days that is all Emma and a glimmering determination in his hazel eyes that only a Charming could possess.

Her little prince isn't so little anymore and she thanks every deity above for this gift of light in front of her. Her _heart_.

She wraps him up in a hug and he rests his head against her chest, one arm slung around her waist.

Emma's growing darker with each day that passes, the books in her vault, the piles of ones she hasn't gotten through, hasn't already read every single line of, dwindling faster and faster, accumulated now into a stack of two or three. Hook is constantly fighting with her, demanding and selfish and slipping further and further into a crazed kind of _lost_ , her sister's haunted face and her right hand that always seems to be resting over her middle now, a loud, _painful_ reminder of something else in her life, another _love_ , that's been tainted by the mere whispers of her mother.

It's all a constant swirl in her mind. And though it never stops (never does it stop), her little prince, her light, her heart. He can quiet the noise. His arms allay the chaos, bring it down to a dull murmur.

She bends to press a kiss into his hair. She lets his words replace the doubts and the worries. Lets his voice be the calm in her storm. Lets herself believe him. Believe in _them_.

"We will, my sweet boy. We will."

 

* * *

 

She's going through the last book, having summoned them into her study a few hours ago, already exhausted and empty with the loss of the hope her son had sparked within her this morning.

"I'm glad he didn't see the body."

Regina startles, the glasses on the bridge of her nose banging against the bone there, and the book in her lap tumbling to the floor with a loud thump.

"Dammit, Emma!"

And she _is_ Emma in this moment. She's still got the dreadful white hair, the too red lips, and the black leather getup but her eyes aren't hollow. They're a vibrant green. Her features are a bit softer, her voice not as sharp, not as calculated.

She's _her_ Emma in this moment and it's been almost a month since she's last seen her so she doesn't reach for the book, doesn't remove her glasses. She just stares and stares as Emma fidgets. _Fidgets_.

"It was stupid to leave them here. Henry, he could have - and I - "

Green eyes find hers, so deeply _pleading_ , heavy and wrought with a palpable sadness that knocks the breath right from Regina's lungs.

"I don't want - " her eyes downcast here, voice cracking, rough and so very, _very_ Emma. "I don't want to do any of that. I don't want to hurt you, I don't want to break you. I - "

Regina's up off the couch in an instant, a visceral need to touch Emma, _hold_ her, rippling through her at the absolute _torment_ in her words, in the quake of them.

She's about a foot away from Emma now, her attire, the hair, the lips, all giving her a pause she's not sure how to bridge, so she reaches out a tentative hand. Runs it down the length of a leather-clad arm.

Emma _trembles_.

And then she's surging forward, a flash of dark grey, and Regina's holding a sobbing Emma, wearing the white sweater and jeans from the night... _that_ night.

Her hair has that odd but beautiful mixture of straight and curl, and it's golden, golden, golden.

Regina winds a hand through it, eyes fluttering at the silkiness. She's never felt so _much_ of Emma before. It's never been _them_.

But here, now. She has _her_ Emma. Not The Savior, not The Dark One, not the orphan, not the mother who gave up her son, not the convict, not any of her (unwanted) titles. She's _Emma_.

She doesn't know how long this reprieve from the darkness will last and her glasses are pressed up against her temple at an uncomfortable angle from the way her face is pressed into Emma's hair but she doesn't _care_.

She just runs her fingers through golden silk and murmurs soft words into Emma's ear, holding her as she heaves against her, as she apologizes over and over again.

The last book in her pile is on the ground and there's nothing in it that can help. The dagger is hidden away (in the bottom drawer of her dresser, invisible with a cloaking spell - she moves it every other night) where Emma can't get to it. Not for a while, at least. She knows Emma's going to find it eventually.

Tomorrow might be the day the darkness overtakes Emma entirely. She's killed so many already.

She's terrified for Emma (never _of_ her). She's terrified for her son. For that moment when he wavers, when he breaks like Emma'd been so hellbent on doing to her earlier. She's terrified for Snow and David, how devastated they're going to be ( _if_ it happens, _if_ ).

She's _terrified_ and she's running out of hope. Her son, the truest believer, has more of it stored up inside of him than Regina could ever _dream_ of having but even truest believers have limits.

If prince charmings and snow whites can expunge the darkness from a soul at the expense of another's and saviors can turn into dark ones, then surely truest believers can lose their hope.

She's searching for an answer to a question she's not yet been asked and she's _exhausted_.

But this is Emma, _her_ Emma, in her arms, vulnerable and weeping and she's wearing her white sweater and her boots are leaving scuff marks on her wood floor and she doesn't _care_.

For this moment, for the hands fisting at her shirt (it's going to be ruined, she doesn't _care_ ), the harsh sniffles and faint whimpers in her ear, for the golden hair, and the rough fabric of the sweater she's got her own fistful of.

For just this one beautiful moment, her mind is completely silent. Filled with nothing but Emma's soft, slow breaths. The feel of her warmth pressed against her, infusing her, piecing her back together, placing her world back on its axis.

For this one moment, they are just Emma and Regina and everything, all the space that's not between them (because they're pressed oh so closely) but around them, is quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I got ravioli on my iPad.


	10. say it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I blame my Emma counterpart for this entirely. 
> 
> Don't ask what it is because even I'm not sure.

"No."

"Say it, Regina. You know you want to. You actually just did."

Regina looks up from her desk, glasses sitting primly atop her nose, glaring.

"Then why must it bear repeating?"

Emma smirks, sauntering up to place her hands on the desk, on top of Regina's paperwork. Regina's glare intensifies.

"Because you're blushing and I think it's super cute."

"Miss Swan, I am _not_  - "

"Ooo, Miss Swan, is it?" Emma quirks an eyebrow, leans back and goes to undo the belt on her jeans. Regina's eyes widen, hands being snatched away from the desk, pen dropping to the pile of papers with a dull metallic thud.

"What do you think you're doing?" Regina hisses, eyes shooting from Emma's hands now undoing her zipper to the door of her office.

Emma bites her lip, smiling something downright devious.

"Proving a point."

Regina's nostrils flare, cheeks positively rosy.

Emma steps around the desk, sidles up next to Regina, grabs at the arm of her chair and spins it so Regina's body is facing her, flushed cheeks and wide eyes blinking up at her.

Regina's knuckles are bone white with their hold on the arms of her chair, lips pressed tightly together, chest rising and falling unevenly.

Emma bends and Regina's eyes finally flicker to meet hers.

"Say it again," Emma whispers, eyes wickedly playful, pupils blown out.

Regina's teeth grind, ever defiant. Her chin lifts, but her eyes are all over Emma's lips.

"Or what?"

Emma smiles and smiles before waving her hand, Regina gasping as Emma's magic renders her motionless. Save her mouth, her ability to speak, to listen, to _feel_.

"Emma, I swear to _god_ if you don't un - "

Emma gives Regina her back, takes a step, lowers herself onto Regina's lap.

Regina's breath hitches, words morphing into a shuddered gasp.

Emma settles herself onto Regina's thighs completely, back melding into Regina's front, head nestled under Regina's taut jaw.

Regina's wearing black slacks today and Emma smirks again, hands moving to rest over Regina's on the arm chair.

Regina lets out a puff of air, Emma feeling it against her hair.

"Emma, what are - _oh_."

Emma slowly circles her hips, hands tightening and relaxing in cadence with the motion over Regina's curved fingers.

"All you had to do was say it," Emma murmurs, eyes fluttering at the feeling of her zipper rubbing deliciously against her clothed sex.

She gives a particularly hard grind, nails nicking Regina's knuckles as she does so, a slight whimper leaving her lips as she hears Regina's sharp inhale behind her.

"Someone could walk in on us." Emma releases Regina's right hand and gives a small flourish with her index and middle finger, relinquishing the magical hold on Regina's right arm. Emma wraps her own around Regina's wrist and slips her hand beneath her underwear, her hips that are still moving in a slow circle jerking a bit with the movement, Regina's fingers meeting and sliding through Emma's wet folds.

Regina lets out a strangled " _Em-ma_."

Emma bites her bottom lip hard enough she thinks she's broken skin.

"Say it, Regina," Emma rasps. "Say it and I'll stop."

"I - " she chokes on a gasp when Emma quickens the pace of her hips. " _Oh my god_ ," she breathes, sounding equal parts turned on and furious, "I think your ass looks positively delicious in those jeans," Regina says around gritted teeth, eyes screwed shut, chest heaving.

Emma gives a victorious grin and slides her hand and Regina's from her underwear, hopping up and zipping her jeans, buckling her belt back.

Regina's face is frozen in bemusement.

Emma's smile grows. "See? Adorable." She waves her hand and releases Regina from her magical hold before chuckling and ducking her head as she leaves Regina's office, closing the door behind her. 

The vase of flowers Emma'd brought her shatters against it a second later and Emma feels like she's walking on goddamn air, Regina's secretary blinking up at her in silent terror as she makes her way out of Town Hall.


	11. because henry would want you to

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't written anything in a while and I feel guilty about it so naturally I'm posting something extremely uncalled for from my notes. 
> 
> The first sentence is the spoiler/warning. 
> 
> But just in case you want to read no further: this is a super short drabble that came to me while I was in the shower a while ago where Henry dies in his early twenties.
> 
> *Suicide trigger warning.

Henry's dead.

Emma finds Regina in her bathroom. A handful of blue pills in her hand, hair flat to her head and lifeless, eyes red and raw and puffy, lips swollen and she's leaning against the tub, in a pair of sweats and a t-shirt far too ragged and oversized to have come from anywhere but Henry's dresser.

Emma's already in tears when she falls to her knees and Regina lets out a pained cry. Something deep and strangled, _destroyed_.

"Regina," Emma chokes out, hand wrapping around the wrist with the hand full of pills. "Regina, _please_." It's a wobbly plea, throat closing at this broken woman in front of her and she understands. She _knows_. But she can't. _They_ can't. Henry wouldn't want this.

 _Henry wouldn't want this_.

"Regina," Emma murmurs, mouth resting at her temple, wrapping her other arm around a too small waist, feeling Regina tremble and heave against her.

"I can't live in a world Henry isn't a part of, Emma. I - I _can't_."

It's halted and swallowed up by the gasps she's taking in between sobs and Emma tightens her hold. Presses her cheek to Regina's shoulder, feels the fabric of her shirt - _Henry's_ shirt - grow damp under her own flow of tears. She squeezes hard against Regina, a visceral need to keep this woman here. Alive. She _needs_ Regina. She can't, simply _cannot_ lose her too.

"Yes you can. You have to," she whispers, bottom lip trembling.

She hears, feels, Regina give a watery titter. A sound unhinged and Emma's eyes flutter at the wave of sheer loss that slams into her gut.

_**I'm so sorry, Regina...Emma...but Henry's - he's - he didn't make it.** _

Her son. _Their_ son. _Gone_.

" _Why_?"

Emma sucks in a sharp breath, eyes stinging, gut roiling, tears falling, falling, falling.

"Because Henry would want you to."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I'm so offended by my brain because of this.


	12. she can't; she does anyway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol, so. I just wrote this in my notes section at 1:23 a.m. in like 15 minutes. You can tell. It's rusty, I'm rusty. I'm trying to get back in the flow. It's also in second person and probably a little out of character. Sorry.

"I was surprised to get your call."

You chuckle, the sound foreign to me. My mouth parts with the sound.

"Well, I did always enjoy surprising you."

There's a note to your voice, an odd one. A familiar one. My stomach twists a little, heart speeding up a bit. The first grip of anxiety pulling at it, making me wonder if perhaps this really was a bad idea.

You frown and I realize I've let it show on my face.

"That was...joke. I was making a joke," you say, eyes wide.

I shake my head emphatically. "No, no. Of course. I know. Of course you were."

I smile. It feels like a wince.

 

* * *

 

"Would you like a glass of water?" I set my keys down on the island as I move for the cupboard, turning to look over my shoulder at you. Your eyes are wondering around the living room.

"Sure," you say, clutching at your bag.

My heart's pounding in my chest and I hear the wood floor of the dining room creak as you move about and I'm turning with a glass of water in each hand when I see that you're standing in front of our curio cabinet.

Where there's shelves and shelves filled with pictures of Robin and I. On our first date. Vacations together with Henry and Roland. Our wedding day. Our honeymoon.

The clock above the fridge ticks. And ticks. And ticks.

I swallow. Clear my throat. You jump a little and whirl around, eyes darting to mine.

"I...here's your water."

You come around the table and take it from my hand. The tips of your fingers brush along my knuckles. Our eyes lock.

I turn away abruptly and make for the living room. The couch.

"So," I say, affecting a bright disposition, a _friendly_ one. "Movie marathon?"

 

* * *

 

Three hours and two bottles of wine later and we're sitting on opposite ends of the couch, our legs extended, my right one pressed against your left one.

"I can't believe you actually ever liked him."

You snort and take another sip of wine.

"I didn't _like_ him. He was hot and I wanted to fuck him."

I chuckle and arch a brow. "Isn't that supposed to be his job?"

You level me with a challenging smirk. "Are you gender-typing, Madam Mayor?"

I scoff, faking affront. "I'd never."

You hum and roll your eyes, your foot brushing methodically, lazily against the loose fabric under my breast.

I swallow and flick my eyes to the television, a reality tv show playing that we'd long ago muted.

I take a long gulp of my wine, finishing off the glass.

Your eyes don't leave mine as I get up to place it in the sink and when I pad back into the living room, I cross my arms and try to temper the want that's sloshing around inside of me. Burning at my fingertips. My back. My neck.

There's a spark to your eyes I can't allow myself to reciprocate so I clear my throat again and tuck a thick of hair behind my ear.

"There are some extra blankets in the hall closet. Pillows as well. Robin won't be home tomorrow until late, 6 probably, so you can shower when you wake up, have lunch with me."

You nod and I mimic it.

"Right. Goodnight, then."

"Night, Regina," you say to my back. My eyes shut, stilling for a split second before turning the corner down the hall and slipping into my room.

I close the door and let my head fall against it, my hands coming up to cover my face.

"Fuck," I breathe.

I shower and brush my teeth before slipping into bed. On Robin's side. I bury my face in his pillow and inhale, needing to miss him more than I do right now. Missing him but also wanting you. Wanting you more in this moment.

My hair's still damp, longer now than it's ever been, and though I wish I had more restraint, tonight I don't. Not drunk and certainly not with you less than twenty feet away from me.

So I let myself want. I let my mind think of you. Only you.

My hand slides down my abdomen, fingertips rucking up my tank top, nails raking across the soft flesh there.

My back arches, goosebumps erupting. I bite my lip.

I think of your slender fingers gliding across my thigh, your lips brushing against my navel, your hair tickling at my sides.

I think of your smell and the way that one dimple likes to make an appearance when you smile a certain way. Your freckles. Your eyes. The way they change color.

I think of your body. The way it's changed. The way it's softer, your hips more round, chest a little fuller.

I think of your smirk and your foot brushing up against me.

I moan when my fingers dip through my folds, wet already. My hips jerk.

I brush the heel of my palm against my clit and gasp, the sound unrestrained, loud.

"Oh my god," I whimper as I swirl my fingers, slip my middle one inside of me.

I hear a creak outside my door and still, eyes flying open, and body flooding with prickling ice.

I whip my head to the door just as it cracks open. You slip inside and then back into the door, closing it as you face me.

"Please don't stop," you rasp.

I suck in a sharp breath and try to find your eyes in the darkness. You don't move away from the door.

My fingers start to move again and I push down the covers with the heels of my feet so you can see better.

I hear you take in a shaky breath. My eyes flutter at the sound, another finger slipping inside of me, curling just a little, spurred on by the knowledge now that you're watching me. That you've been listening.

I work my fingers in and out of me, the silence in the room making what I'm doing much more pronounced and my back bows sharply when I dance my thumb once, twice across my clit.

" _Oh_ ," I gasp.

"Fuck."

"Emma," I whimper, needing you to touch me. Needing it so badly in this moment. "Emma, please. Come here."

"I can't," you say, the words sounding pained.

I cry out when I thrust in and up with another finger, twisting them a bit, curling them again at the knuckles. So close. So, so close.

"Emma, please..." I choke out, not caring that I'm begging, "please touch me."

"I am," you say, voice strained. "It's my fingers inside of you, my lips at your neck. I'm fucking you, Regina. God, you feel so good. Keep going. Don't stop."

I hear you take a step forward and little white lights start to go off behind my eyelids, my motions quickening, your words, the hoarseness of them all a wave of intense sensory overload.

"Harder. Fuck yourself harder. Remember how we used to? How good I made you feel? Come for me, Regina. Right now. Only for me. Let me hear you, God - please. I want to hear you."

I grind against my palm, fingers dipping in and out of me so hard and so fast and it's so good and you're here. With me. Watching me. And I'm married and so are you but right now I'm fucking myself to your voice and I've missed you so much and -

I come.

Your name on my lips, I come.

And it's when I'm trying to catch my breath that I hear your cracked, "always so beautiful."

And then you're gone.

You don't say goodbye. You don't wait for me in the morning.

You don't leave a note. You don't call.

A part of me aches while another one had been expecting it.

I still cry, all the same.

I still make dinner for Robin and I later that evening.

I still kiss him and make love to him that night in our bed.

The bed I'd changed the sheets to before he'd come home.

The bed I now can't sleep in without thinking of you.

And I wonder every night if maybe. Maybe you're thinking of me too.


	13. she use to be better at hatred

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hey, look. I found another random tidbit in my notes. This is kind of similar to the most recent drabble I posted here. Apparently, it's easier for me to write this than happy, fluffy stuff. Shocker.

"Emma?" Regina opens the door to her apartment a little wider.

"What - "

Emma stumbles toward her a little bit, grin sloppy and hand sliding off the door frame. Regina catches her elbow just in time to keep her from falling face first onto the floor.

"Emma, are you - " Regina takes her face in her hands and finds Emma's eyes. Muddled, pupils dilated.

Regina's jaw sets, old anger bubbling up, old pain.

"You're drunk," Regina hisses, pulling away from her. Emma catches herself on the door handle as Regina pads to her bedroom, intent on calling a taxi.

"You're wearing flannel, oh my god," Emma sniggers as she follows Regina into the room.

Regina snatches her phone off the nightstand and Emma tips forward, reaching for it.

"No, come on. Please." Regina twists away from her and Emma's words turn to a tremble. A plea.

"Please," Emma whispers, eyes glistening. "Just for tonight."

Regina's jaw works, hearing the operator in her ear, seeing those green, green eyes again after so many years.

She ends the call.

"I'll get you some blankets," Regina says as she brushes past Emma.

She goes to the hall closet and grabs a sheet and a blanket from the shelf, closing her eyes and bringing an unsteady hand up to her mouth.

She takes a deep inhale and shakes her hair out of her face.

When she comes back into the bedroom Emma's got a picture frame in her hand. The one from her nightstand.

Regina freezes.

It's a picture of the three of them. Before everything. She watches as Emma fingers at Henry's smile.

"He was so happy," Emma breathes, and Regina knows she's crying. She turns. Catches Regina's eyes.

 _So green_.

" _We_ were happy."

Emma comes forward then, grabs for the blankets, and Regina's numb.

Struck motionless with the onslaught of memories she'd taken years of therapy to come to terms with. To compartmentalize. _Forget_.

There's a warm mouth at her neck. Gentle. _Soft_.

In her happiest memories, this is how she remembers it with Emma.

So she gasps, goosebumps forming, hands at her sides, frozen in place.

And then gentle becomes firmer, faster, harder.

And this, this is what she'd tried to forget. What had kept her up most nights in the beginning. Right after.

 _I'd do anything you asked me. Anything_.

Emma's eyes had been an almost black. Hungry, insatiable, _empty_.

Regina tried everything she could to fill that emptiness.

She'd tried her hardest to fix Emma. To put her pieces back together. To make her whole again.

But in the process she'd slowly started to chip away at her own insides. And one day, she'd cracked. A jagged fissure right down the middle. All of her spilling out and too quickly for anyone, especially Emma, to stop.

Her fingers are tangled in Emma's hair, a tongue swirling around her navel, when she pushes at Emma's shoulders.

"Stop," she rasps. " _Stop_."

Emma stops. She remembers.

Regina pulls her shirt down and covers her face with her hands before taking a deep breath and running her fingers through her hair.

"Regina, I'm - "

"No," Regina says, voice hard. And then she laughs, the sound a little unhinged. "You know, I wish I could hate you. It'd have made this so much easier."

She doesn't mean to say it. Doesn't want Emma to know about anything she's gone through the past few years.

Emma's jaw slackens. Regina steps over and picks up the blanket and sheet from her bed, places it in Emma's arms.

Emma looks so young in this moment. Like that teenager she'd tried and failed to save. Like the woman she'd been in love with. Like the woman who'd broken her heart that early afternoon.

Like the woman who'd wanted all of her then and wants all of her now but could never give the same to Regina.

"Get some sleep. Eat in the morning. I have oatmeal in the cupboards. Take a shower, brush your teeth."

Regina swallows, not allowing herself to cry.

"Then leave. And never come back," she says, turning and making her way into her bathroom, shutting the door behind her.

She doesn't let out the quiet sob until she hears the soft click of her bedroom door closing.


	14. she'd do anything for you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is something very old from my fanfiction.net account. I'm mostly posting this to let you all know that I'm not going to be updating 'a mistake' until sometime in May, after I've graduated college. I so wish I could muster up the motivation to write some now, but my shoulders are barely keeping steady as is with the weight of my last semester and all the papers and presentations and exams bearing down on them. School's a right bitch, isn't it? 
> 
> Anyway, I AM going to finish that story. But I want to do it justice and I want it to have my full attention so I can do that properly. I appreciate so much all of you for everything, but especially your loyalty and continued love. It's honestly so fortifying. Fanfic writers don't write for profit, that's not why we do it. We do it because we love to write and because we want to share it with others who love these characters and their stories just as much as we do. So. To stop myself from going any deeper into this saccharine shit. Thank you. From the bottom of my heart. Though I am shit at replies to your beautiful comments, I do read every one and they mean the world to me. 
> 
> You are all so deeply kind and wonderful.

"She'd do anything for you, you know."

She doesn't realize she's been staring and her head jerks to the side, sees him leaned up against the counter, eyes on Emma holding baby Neal.

She's laughing and though there's more than twenty people inside the diner, Regina can hear it. She thinks she'd be able to hear it even in a room filled with hundreds of people.

Her heart jumps at the words. At _whom_ he's referring to.

She swallows and looks back to Emma, Henry now at her side, smiling and holding onto baby Neal's foot.

"I'm not so sure about that." Because she's not. She's not at all.

"I am," Hook says, eyes never leaving Emma.

Regina looks at him. Sees the faint smile on his lips as he watches her. Sees the tenderness in his gaze. It makes her stomach twist so she turns away – back to Emma.

And she looks up then, eyes shining and oh so green, the light from the sun streaming in through the windows and the deep emerald of her blouse making the jade in them more pronounced today.  
Her eyes find Regina's first; she smiles. And it's something small, something like _our son_ , something like _but with you Regina, I always know when you're lying_.

  
It's small but it's meaningful. It's _friendship_.

It's friendship and _only_ friendship because then her eyes flicker over to Hook and the smile grows into something else. Grows into _I love you_ and Regina tries not to let the feeling of…it's not exactly jealously in this moment, though she is that. She's always that.

It's more sadness than anything now. It's could have been. It's won't ever be. It's almost.

She _almost_ told her.

She _almost_ kissed her.

She _almost_ left him.

She feels the word on her tongue, tastes its acridness, feels it harden in her throat, heave in her stomach.

She tries to think of Robin then. Because she has a happy ending. She is happy.  
She has Robin and she has Roland and she has Henry.

She _is_ happy.

It's just that when she's lying in her bed, next to her happy ending, next to warmth and comfort and solidity, her mind whispers to her.

It says things like _could you have been happier?_

It supplies names like _Emma_.

It torments her with _you love her_.

And she always quiets it with _no, I love Robin._

Pushes back with _I found my happy ending, I'm happy now. With_ him _._

And it works. It works because it's true. She is happy. She _does_ love Robin.

It's just that she loves Emma too.

She loves Emma from afar. Loves her when she smiles at her and it's friendship. Loves her when she sees her and Hook holding hands, when they kiss. She loves her even though it hurts.

She loves her even though it _pierces_.

You love her.

It's not her voice. Not her whisper.  
Her eyes snap to Hook, panic pricking at her skin.

But his eyes aren't accusing, not angry, not threatening. _He's_ not threatened by it.  
His eyes are open, gentle.

"She doesn't think you do, but I see it."  
He glances back over to Emma and that whisper in her mind turns into a rhythm, something steady, something growing.

Blinking, she says, "I'm with Robin."

He chuckles and the blood is pounding too loudly in her temples for her to feel annoyance at the sound.

His eyes find hers again and there's something swimming in them that sets her on edge. Makes her feel unease.

"A heart doesn't quiet for someone just because it's found content in another."

And it's more the implication than the word choice.

Because not even her mind will fully allow her the admission.

Even she won't let _you love her_ be _you're_ in _love with her._

Her breath catches in her throat and Hook's smile turns sickly sweet then, gentleness being chipped away by something else. Something harder.

"It's a good thing us villains found our happy endings, aye?"

His eyes move from Emma's to hers again and she recognizes it. That something.

A warning.

Her jaw sets, her own smile pasting itself across her lips, too broad and too forced.

"Yes," she says, "yes, it is."

When she looks forward once more, she watches as Hook sidles up behind Emma, watches as her head leans back, watches as she smiles into their kiss, watches her hands tighten around his forearms. She looks content. Happy. Beautiful.

 _You're in love with her_ , her mind whispers.

 _I know_ , she whispers back.


	15. you can look (but don't touch)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm only posting this because my best friend and favorite sound board is a goddamn nuisance and wouldn't shut up about it. 
> 
> I hate this, it's dumb, I don't have a time frame, I don't know why I used Mary Maragaret instead of Snow, whatever.

“I didn't think you'd come,” Mary Margaret says, words tinged with surprise and accompanied by a not so subtle glance to the groom.

Emma flexes her jaw, eyes scanning the living room as she takes another swig of her beer.

“She's upstairs,” Mary Margaret adds lowly, moving to brush past her, her hand on Emma’s bicep giving a gentle, _warning_ , squeeze. She takes Emma’s beer bottle (her fourth, maybe) from her hand. “No more of these tonight.” And then she’s gone, Emma's gaze on the stairs.

She lets her fingers glide along the walls, eyes roving over the picture frames - Henry as a baby, Henry as a toddler, Henry, Henry, Henry - as she makes her way down the upstairs hallway. She comes to a stop at a cracked door and lets her hand hover over it before turning and curling her knuckles, giving a few soft raps to the white wood.

“I'll be there in a minute, Robin, I just need to - oh.”

Emma pushes the door open and Regina doesn't bother covering herself as Emma looks her over, too tipsy to care that she's breaking their rules.

Regina glares and huffs as she finishes buttoning up a deep plum blouse, adjusting the collar and moving to run her fingers through her hair. “I see our conversation last week has definitely made an impact,” she says irritably, catching Emma's eyes in the dresser mirror.

Emma snaps out of her ogling trance and snorts, shifting on her feet before padding over to Regina's bed and plopping down on it, eyeing the perfectly fluffed pillows.

Regina turns and crosses her arms, arching a brow.

“Which side is his?”

“Emma,” Regina responds, voice sharp and full of warning. _So many warnings tonight_ , she thinks.

Emma leans back on her hands, fingers idly scratching at the silk of the comforter. “What, it's just a question. No harm in words, is there?”

She gives a dark smirk at that and Regina’s look turns icy. Emma feels her stomach give a twist. She’s kind of into this always-pissed-off demeanor Regina's adopted around her since last week.

“I don't know why you've chosen tonight to be such a self-involved idiot but I’m not going to be your babysitter. Either you behave tonight or you leave right now.”

Emma bites at her bottom lip, trying and failing to swallow down her chuckle. Regina’s eyes flash at the sound. Emma wants to kiss the anger out of her, maybe suck on her neck a little, too.

She stands up instead, walks slowly over to Regina and leans in. Regina bristles, breath going still. “Whatever you say, _Your Majesty_.”

She scrapes a few fingernails along Regina's stomach, catching a button and slipping a finger just barely into the opening of her blouse before brushing past her.

Her lips curve up into a triumphant little Cheshire grin when she hears the loud, _definitely_ shaky, exhale seconds later.

 

* * *

 

So, she was behaving.

Regina wasn't.

She’s way past a few drinks in and absolutely _draping_ herself over Robin.

Emma wants to punch her. And him. Really, just him because his hands are on her ass, over that fucking skirt with the zipper halfway down the back and this is supposed to be a _bachelorette party_ , what in the fuck is the _groom_ doing here?

“I wonder what it's like having to maneuver around so much stubble.”

She turns to see Ruby staring at Robin and Regina as well, head tilted, and red solo cup to her lips.

Emma scrunches her face at the image and then takes another swallow of her own drink. Mulan had given it to her a few minutes ago. She didn't know what it was but it wasn't half bad.

“Well, you would know, wouldn't you?”

Ruby gapes at her, feigned offense coloring her features, and Emma chuckles into her cup.

“All of my men are always well-groomed, thank you very much.”

Emma hasn't looked away from Regina and when the brunette’s eyes find hers over Robin’s shoulders and her hand sifts through his hair at the nape of his neck ever so intentionally she crushes the plastic in her hand in one swift motion and feels the warmth of the alcohol trickle down her forearm.

Ruby gives a sound of surprise and then follows Emma’s gaze. She wraps her hand around Emma’s wrist and tugs, and keeps tugging until Emma's forced to be dragged behind her, and she doesn't speak when Ruby pushes her into the guest bathroom and closes the door.

She crosses her arms just like Regina had at her hours ago and Emma almost laughs at the raw disapproval on Ruby’s face.

“I did not come here to babysit your sorry, pining ass, Swan.”

Emma's drunk by now, the world refusing to stay the fuck still and this time Emma does snort out a laugh. Phrase of the night, apparently.

“Who comes to a bachelorette party to babysit.” She's laughing again. And she doesn't know _why_ this entire situation is really fucking funny to her but she hunches over, grabbing at her stomach, and it's only when she’s sitting on the edge of the tub, Ruby’s hands around her upper arms, that she realizes she's crying. Loudly.

“Hey,” Ruby coos, “hey, now, none of that. I did your makeup and everything.”

Emma gives a rough chuckle, wiping under her eyes and tilting her chin up, finding the ceiling. “Sorry,” she rasps.

Ruby pats her thigh, holding out a hand as she stands. Emma takes it.

“Now, then.” Her dark eyes sparkle with mischief anew. “Let's go get a piece of those yummy strippers I called in twenty minutes ago, yeah?”

Emma’s eyes widen. “ _Wait, str_ \- ”

But she's being dragged (yet again) out of the bathroom and the next thing she knows there's banging at Regina's front door followed by the deep bellows of “ _Police, open up!”_

 

* * *

 

Robin left. All the women having pushed him out the door behind the strippers with giggles and promises to keep Regina _well_ entertained.

Regina was drunk enough to give him a sly wriggle of her fingers in goodbye; she even blew him a stupidly attractive kiss.

Emma was more than a little disgusted. And envious.

Whatever.

She was currently watching some dude (and okay, he _was_ really sexy) grind himself against Regina, seated, with her legs spread, in one of her dining room chairs.

Emma was still in shock that Regina had gone along with this so easily - there hadn't been even so much as a syllable of complaint or resistance.

She doesn't understand why until she's leaning against the wall in the back of the living room, arms crossed and eyes riveted. To Regina. Who's just caught her gaze again and is reaching for the dude’s hips, his backside to her. She tugs him down and he only laughs, the booming of the music swallowing up the sound and Regina bites at her bottom lip, dark, dark eyes a resounding challenge, a _taunt_.

Emma gives a harsh exhale, shaking her head as she holds the stare down, not one to resist a challenge from this woman, rules be damned. Clearly, Regina wasn't as adherent to them as she said she'd be.

_So you want to play this game, huh?_

She sees Ruby making her way over to her, the tank top she'd been wearing swinging in the air above one of the strippers, and Emma feels her mouth curve. _Hello, upper hand_ , she muses.

She uncrosses her arms and meets Ruby halfway, cutting off her “Wanna take a ri -” as she kisses her, her hands sliding around her middle and nails raking up her back.

Ruby gives a confused, muffled squeak before relaxing into the kiss and returning it with fervor.

She's just got one of her hands wound up in dark curls, tongue flicking at the roof of Ruby’s mouth playfully before she rips away and rests her chin on a bare shoulder, smiling when she sees black eyes boring into her own, fire licking at them.

She's rigid now underneath the gyrations of the stripper and she shoves at him before standing and stalking off in the direction of the stairs.

There's a sudden hush of hoots and howls, laughter and calls of encouragement, and Emma waits a beat before finding Mary Margaret’s knowing eyes.

Ruby tsks in her ear and Emma just shrugs, making her way up the stairs, hearing Ruby’s “My turn!” before the hoots and hollers start up again.

She finds Regina in her bathroom, knuckles white with her fists curved around the marble of her sink.

She leans against the doorframe. “That was a pretty unsatisfying win for me. It doesn't really even feel like a victory,” she says archly.

Regina doesn't move an inch, continuing to stare at her reflection with a posture rigid enough to put some sculptures to shame.

Emma moves closer to her, catching her eyes in the mirror. Regina's arm flexes. Emma watches the faint outline of muscle constrict and then relax.

“The question is...would you have done that even if Robin had still been here?” She says it while her fingers trace over that still rippling muscle and snaps her head up when Regina wrenches away from her touch, shuffling backwards.

Emma blinks, hand still outstretched. She's still very, very drunk. She sees the sheen of sweat glistening on Regina’s neck, the line of her hair, and remembers that Regina is, too.

“This isn't happening, get out.”

“Ask nicely,” Emma shoots back because they’re both drunk and Regina isn't playing by their rules and she likes pissing her off.

So when Regina growls and lurches forward, Emma’s breath hitches in anticipation.

She doesn't expect to be slammed into the bathroom door and she _really_ doesn't expect the fingers around her neck.

“Listen to me, Emma Swan,” Regina breathes against her lips - she's that close. Her fingers contract over her throat and Emma’s kind of fascinated by how much she likes it. “The only reason this happened tonight is because I've had too much to drink. And if you don't leave _right now_ I'm going to _make_ you.”

Emma tips her head back, her eyelids feeling heavy and the alcohol in her system making her feel almost lax in Regina's hold. She lets out a laugh, the sound foreign and a bit slurred.

“Those are some mighty ambiguous words for someone trying to play by the rules.”

And Regina curls her lip back and actually _snarls_ , ripping her hand away in favor of turning her back and running it through her hair.

Emma watches her, fingers twitching to touch.

“Come on, Regina, we won't remember it tomorrow, anyway.” She's not quite yet to begging but she might get there soon.

“Stop talking,” Regina hisses, shoulders rising and falling with each heaving breath.

Emma sighs, head thunking against the door, rolling it to the side as she looks around Regina's bathroom. She's never been in here before.

And then she stills, an idea forming. She bites down on her bottom lip as she gives a lazy smile, fingers sliding down to unbutton her jeans. Regina whips her head around when she pulls down the zipper.

Emma bows her back a bit, jutting her hips out, rucking up her tee so it rests on her abdomen. She wants Regina to _see_ what she's about to do.

But Regina's already stepping toward her, head shaking and hands moving to her own. “No, stop - I'm not going to - ”

She seizes Regina's wrists, paying homage to the grip Regina’d had around her neck. Regina freezes, eyes flickering up and catching on her own.

“Not going to what, Regina? Watch? _Touch_?”

She pulls her forward, as close as she can get her in this position, and Regina jerks her head to the side just as their lips almost brush. Emma gives a low chuckle, head moving back to rest against the door.

Regina hasn't tried to twist herself out of Emma's hold, hasn't moved at all in fact, and Emma feels the sudden suffocating urge to make Regina come _undone_ , to make her face contort with emotion, with unadulterated _pleasure_. She wants Regina to _want_ her and she wants to _see_ it.

She wants Regina to want her enough to be reckless with it, to forget about their stupid rules and the reasons ( _reason_ ) why they can't have each other in the first place.

“ _Regina_ ,” Emma says, voice laced with raw need, pleading. Her thumbs draw light circles into Regina’s pulse points and almost buckles at the knees when it draws out a sudden, strangled whimper.

She dips her head, breath coming in fast and uneven, and Emma feels her skin prickle, feels the palpability of permission in every pore, buzzing and coiled so tightly she feels like she's going to burst.

“Okay,” Regina whispers a second later, slipping her hands out of Emma's and placing them, palms flat, on either side of her head. “Okay,” she says again, voice thick with arousal and eyes _piercing_ when they tip up to meet Emma's.

And _fuck_. She leans forward, hands already tugging at Regina's waist but she doesn't budge; she just inhales sharply and shakes her head, taking a small step forward, her thigh bumping into Emma's as she rests her forehead against the door above Emma's right shoulder.

“No touching,” Regina whispers hoarsely and Emma nods, unseen but felt, and takes her hands away from Regina's hips, one palm smoothing against the door and the other sliding into her jeans, meeting slick heat.

She gasps as she glides her middle finger up and down, slowly, picturing Regina's touch, Regina's body pressed against her own.

She feels Regina shift a little, knows she's watching now, hears her give a helpless moan.

Emma’s hips twitch at the sound, her neck tingling with the sensation of Regina's hair tickling at it.

Her nails scratch at the wood of the bathroom door as she adds more friction to the throbbing between her legs. Her back arches, the space between her and the door growing as the back of her wrist brushes against the front of Regina's skirt.

Regina lets out a breathy cry and Emma _can't_...she can't - she needs -

“Regina, _please_...please just fucking _move closer_.”

She hears scratching that doesn't belong to her own hand and bites her lip hard enough to draw blood, turning her head to bury her face in Regina's neck and dragging her mouth over her jaw. “Please,” she whimpers again and Regina shudders against her before she lets out a whimper of her own and steps between Emma's legs, her thigh pressing against the back of Emma's hand. It adds delicious pressure and Emma's breath stutters into Regina's hair when it pushes upward, flexing.

“ _Oh_ ,” she exhales, “again.”

And to _hell_ with no touching, Emma’s free hand cups Regina's ass, pulling and grinding her against her, desperate for the friction, her other hand sliding out of her jeans, fingers warm and sticky when they slide to find the zipper of Regina's skirt and yank it down, pushing Regina away long enough to tug the fabric down to her ankles and it's like that one action knocks down all of Regina's restraint.

She kicks at the skirt and then slams back into Emma's body, the harsh thud of her flesh hitting the door too loud and neither of them caring enough.

Regina’s fingers tangle in her hair and Emma's back comes away and collides into the door with each roll of Regina's hips, her thigh pressing upward hard and _just there_ and she's got her mouth opened on staccato exhales when Regina rends her of her breath by dragging her mouth up the length of her neck and then sucking on her bottom lip, pulling it back with a pop before sliding her tongue in her mouth and moaning when Emma winds her fingers in her hair and scrapes nails along her scalp.

“I _fucking hate_ how much I want you,” Regina growls into her neck, biting down harshly, and Emma cries out, pain morphing into pleasure and in an instant she's coming, fingers tight in Regina's hair and nails digging into the flesh of her back.

Regina's hands come down to grab and wrap around her wrists, Emma pliant and still wrapped up in the warm haze of her orgasm, pinning them up above her head as Regina’s breath dampens her neck, feeling her chest heave against her own.

The hold on Emma's wrists isn't very strong and Emma wriggles them down a bit, wanting to tangle them up in more of her hair but she's struck motionless when she feels Regina shift and then lace their fingers together.

Emma inhales shakily. Regina nuzzles her ear, her jaw, presses an open mouthed kiss to the juncture of her neck where she'd bit her, the lackadaisical swipe of her tongue damn near unhinging her mind. 

“Regina,” Emma sucks in a sharp inhale.

“ _Emma_ ,” Regina says back, voice rough and laden with fondness. It does as much for Emma as an orgasm from her does and she almost forgets that this is the last time she's going to hear her name from her like that again.

She thinks Regina's going to pull away then but she hesitates, thumbs smoothing gentle circles into her pulse points, a mirror action of her own, and Emma squeezes her thighs around Regina's, as if she can keep them in this embrace forever.

“I wish you had told me sooner,” Regina says, ugly resignation bleeding into her words and she's out of Emma's space seconds later, waving her hand and Emma's jeans buttoning themselves back up and Regina's skirt appearing and forming itself to her curves. Emma's left bereft and blinking back hot tears and before she can think better of it she's launching herself back at Regina, wrapping her arms around her neck and squeezing for dear life, burying her nose in her hair and inhaling, filing the scent away, taking her fill.

Regina only hesitates for a moment before returning the embrace, running fingers through her hair before pressing a trembling kiss to her temple.

“I'm so sorry,” Emma murmurs, voice a broken whisper.

“I know, darling. I know.”

And she doesn't know why but the use of that word, _darling_ , said so softly and filled with so much...so much _love_ \- it breaks her, blows right through her hold on her tears and a choked sob breaks past her lips, Regina's arm squeezing around her middle and then she's twisting out of the embrace, locking down on her emotions, choking the life out of them and pushing them down, down, down.

She doesn't glance back to Regina and though she thinks about it for a split second she doesn't tell her she loves her, either.

She just keeps walking. Out of her bedroom, down the stairs, past the oppressively thick air and pounding music, and out the front door, taking in a greedy inhale, eyes closing as the frigid air fills her lungs.

And then she walks home, the sound of her name coming from lips bare and emotions raw like a fading echo in her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you weren't expecting that ending then you have far too much faith in my affinity for good old-fashioned smut.
> 
> One of these days I'll have Regina do the walk away thing. Poor Emma needs a goddamn break.


	16. little girls who play with fire get their fingers burned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe if I keep posting random things, they won't notice I'm avoiding writing for a certain story...
> 
> *slithers back into my hole where motivation dies and procrastination thrives*

 

“You shouldn't be up here. Especially not this time of night.”

The young girl swallows. “I- I know but…” there's a pregnant pause, the softest sound of the girl’s breathing, “I had a dream about you. Of your hands.”

The dark haired woman turns at that, the only reaction being the quick _thud-thud_ of her heart.

“Of my hands?” She asks intrigued, voice only just above a whisper.

She sees the young girl nod. “They were caressing me...here.” Dark eyes tip down to see pale fingers trace up the inside of the young girl’s thigh. The older woman’s eyelashes flutter. Just briefly. A split second.

She needs her to leave.

Instead she says, voice an octave or two lower, “and why would my hand be there on your body?”

She hopes it’s too bold of a question for the young girl to answer. She hopes it spooks her, makes her eyes widen and those porcelain cheeks of hers flush. She hopes she turns and leaves this room and never comes back.

The young girl does not move. She does not gasp. She does not blush.

She takes a step forward. And then another. And one more until she's just an arm’s length away.

“I think,” she starts, breathy and the older woman swallows, cursing herself for once again underestimating this absurdly fearless girl, “they were there because I wanted them there… I think,” she tips her eyes, so very green, down and reaches out to take one of the older woman’s hands - lifeless at her side, a purposeful act she'd hoped would help bolster her stoicism, “they were there because I've wanted them there for quite some time,” those long eyelashes of hers flutter closed when she guides the older woman’s hand, fingertips brushing against gossamer flesh untouched, up the inside of her thigh, a mirror action of the young girl’s own seconds earlier.

And the dark haired woman can't keep back the quiet moan when her knuckles meet heated silk. She can't stop her teeth from dragging over her bottom lip to bite back another moan when the girl flips her hand and shifts it so that her fingers glide through warmth and wetness. So much _wetness_. _For her._

She lets out a hard exhale.

The young girl pushes at her fingers, makes it so she's cupping her, and she can't help it, not even a little bit, when her fingers move of their own accord and curve a little, her palm pressing down, eliciting a snagged, trembling exhale.

“ _Regina_ ,” the young girl whimpers. “ _Please_.”

And _oh_ , does it nearly bring Regina to her knees hearing the girl say her name like _that_ , _beg_ her like that.

She stills her fingers and her hand entirely but does not move them away from the girl’s soaking heat.

She's pressed against Regina now, her grip on Regina's slip surely ruining the expensive fabric, her blonde hair falling out of her braid, head bowed forward. Supplicant, _willing_.

Regina shudders, body _aching_ for this girl and her eagerness. Her _want_.

“So, you want my fingers where they are right now?”

She feels the young girl nod against her breastbone.

“You want them sliding against you?”

Another nod, quicker this time.

“You want them _inside_ you?”

“ _Oh_ ,” she whines, “ _yes_. Please...I've - I was lying in bed for hours thinking of you- t-thinking of your hands.”

Regina's surprised by the comment. For _hours_?

“You’ve been wanting me for hours?” Regina does pull away at this, the pained cry of protest _intoxicating_. She tuts. “Pobrecita.”

She tucks a thick of hair behind the young girl’s ear with the fingers that had just been beneath her nightgown. Green eyes follow them as they hesitate on their way back to their owner, as they hover and then shift, trail across a cheekbone, down and over soft, plump lips. A tongue darts out and laves over a fingertip.

Regina smiles, devious and _oh, this is going to be_ delicious.

“Let's do something about that then, hm?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what this is. I was writing a Bellamione vampire au and then thought of one for Swan Queen and voila.


	17. notches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omfg, I just found this in my notes. I don't even remember writing this??

Emma's thumb runs along the groove with _age 10_ etched next to it. She's not crying. She's not.

Regina's hand is warm in hers, soft, and she thinks about how everything else in her life has felt wrong. But this. Sitting on the floor in Regina's bedroom doorway. It feels right. Feels like _home_.

"That was the last year he let me do it."

Regina's voice, barely above a whisper, has Emma turning to look at her. There's a wistfulness to the downturn of her lips. Emma squeezes her hand. Regina looks down at their interlaced fingers. Wistful turns to wonder. Regina's thumb slides along the bump of Emma's knuckle.

"I never thought you'd mean so much to us." Regina swallows, looks up into blue-green eyes. "To _me_."

Emma's heart thuds in her chest, eyelashes fluttering. "Me either," she breathes, completely at a loss for words. Regina hasn't looked away and Emma's now acutely aware that her hand in Regina's is starting to sweat.

"Emma?" Regina breathes, gaze flickering from her parted mouth to her eyes and back again.

"Yeah?" Emma croaks, eyes just staring at that scar above Regina's top lip.

"Stop staring at my mouth and kiss me already."

And really, Emma thinks she should have a retort for that. But she doesn't. So she does as she's told.

A few months later when Henry comes home to visit, he makes another notch in the doorway while his moms are downstairs bickering about dinner.

He etches in a heart next to the boxy 18.

He gets a teary phone call a week later.

He loves his moms. He loves his family.


	18. she maybe is attracted to the evil queen (but only a tiny bit)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I actually started writing this like ten minutes after the 5b finale but then got distracted and then Mari wrote what I had in mind like a million fucking times better so I stopped. If you haven't read her Evil Queen/Regina/Emma fic, what the fuck are you doing with your life, go rEAD IT.
> 
> Anyway, I'd forgotten I'd written this and just found it again. It's really choppy and doesn't really flow well at all but it's doing no good just sitting in my docs so I'm adding it to this.
> 
> If they don't have The Evil Queen unabashedly flirt with Emma in at least one scene, I'm ransacking Adam and Eddy's houses. And leaving random printed out swan queen fanfics in every room.

"Well, I tried to go after my son but it seems he's been made top priority for protection." She takes a step forward, the invisible magical binds tethered to Emma's feet not allowing her to move away. Regina ( _no, the Evil Queen_ , Emma reminds herself) reaches out a surprisingly gentle hand to brush her knuckles down the line of her jaw. Emma tries not to let her eyes flutter but the touch is just so _soft_. She jerks her chin away forcefully. " _You_ , however," dark eyes alight, a smirk curving the edges of plum lips, "are a weakness to an extent I'm not sure our dear Regina quite realizes." Lithe fingers wrap around her chin and Emma's eyes widen, sputtering as they constrict. "Shall we enlighten her?"

 

* * *

 

"Oh, there's a darkness buried deep inside of you, isn't there?" She stalks a circle around Emma, predator sizing up prey. "You keep her locked away just like Regina did with me." Emma looks away, teeth grinding. She hears the rustle of fabric, a second later engulfed in the woman’s smell as she bends down in front of her, a heady scent - like the sweetest of flowers, vanilla, cinnamon - an oddly delicate smell for someone wholly the opposite. It has Emma's mind reeling a bit.

"You might be of more use to me than I thought,” she muses, voice like the richest color of velvet. Dark, dark eyes glitter and Emma feels dread like ice in her belly. Her heart picks up speed in her chest. The Evil Queen tilts her head, looking Emma up and down like a new toy she's just been handed and is unwrapping her little by little, more excited as inch by inch, there's more of her revealed. "Let's rattle the chains a little on that cage of yours, _Em-ma_. See what lurks just beyond the shadows. What emerges.”

She twirls a lock of Emma’s hair around her index finger.

"Regina loves you...and maybe I do, too." She tilts her head as if she's only just realized the admission is one of truth and Emma’s eyes widen, mouth falling open at the words. "But I love you in a different way," she's once again brushing gentle knuckles over Emma's skin, but it's at her cheek now, so very close, so very _soft_. "I love you enough to want what you keep so tightly sealed off _free_. Let it out, Emma. Let her finally breathe. Let her _flourish_."

 

* * *

 

" _Mm_. Regina never let me out to play with you, either. And you being the daughter of my sworn enemy makes it all the more alluring...what do you think dear Snow would do if she walked in on me violating her precious daughter? Better yet, what if she walked in on you sullying your fingers and doing so _willingly_? Tell me, _Em-ma_ , Regina fantasized about you often enough...you know she loves the way your backside looks in those jeans of yours the most? What do you like most on her?"

The Evil Queen dips down, leaning closer so that her ample cleavage is just at Emma's eye level. She watches emerald eyes tip down for a brief second before snapping back up, jaw rigid, throat working on a quick swallow. Her smirk is downright _salacious_. "On _me_?" She drags her teeth over her bottom lip, delighting in the way Emma's chest is rising and falling unevenly, breath almost a pant, eyes glued to her lips. "Oh, you'd like a feel, wouldn't you? You want a mouthful of me, your nails down my back, fingers knuckle deep _inside_ me. Tell me, is it because you know you shouldn't? Or because I'm still Regina and it’d mean you could finally touch me?”

Emma's breath leaves her in a shuddered rush, her head bowing forward, the visceral imagery wreaking havoc on her insides, her skin burning, blood whooshing in her ears, heart pounding at her temples, her wrists. " _Fuck_ ," she gasps out, an accident.

"Yes," Regina - _The Evil Queen_ \- purrs. " _Exactly_ that."

 

* * *

 

“You know Regina isn't the only one who is going to be coming after me once they've figured out a way to get past all of your barriers, right?”

The older woman just lets out a chuckle, not even deigning to turn and acknowledge Emma's words. “Oh, do you mean the pirate? You know I've always been curious,” she does turn then, a wine glass in her hand, a long silver spoon in the other, stirring a deep blue liquid, “is he as possessive of you as he is his hook?”

Emma jolts, head snapping up. “Wha- he's not-”

“You're pathetic, you know,” she continues, as if Emma hadn't spoken at all, tone calm but her face a sneer. “Allowing a man to divest you of your agency so thoroughly. Rendering you to a sniveling, codependent _mess_.”

Emma seethes. “You cast an entire _twenty-eight year_ curse because of a _dead fiancé_.” She doesn't feel compunction for the words - not to this Regina, not for this Evil Queen.

Purple flashes violently, _dangerously_ in dark eyes, and Emma’s up off her knees and hovering in the air a second later, invisible fingers squeezing around her neck, tighter, tighter. She lets out a choked little gurgle as Regina thunders toward her, lip curling and body trembling with unhinged, unmitigated, _rage_.

“You were a second option, you little _brat_ \- tread carefully. Unless you'd like to take another trip to the Underworld? And this time, it wouldn't be in one _piece_ ,” she growls, ripping the magical hold off of Emma and striding back to the table filled with bubbling cylinders and open books.

Emma falls to the ground, knees knocking harshly with the cold tile of Regina’s office. She draws in painful gulps of oxygen, tiny white stars dotting her vision and her body swaying a little.

“And to think we could have had so much fun together,” the older woman tuts, tapping the spoon on the edge of the wine glass before setting both the spoon and the glass back down on the table.

Emma drags herself up to a sitting position and leans so her back is resting against one of Regina's desk legs. “What are you making, anyways? I don't recognize the potion.”

The Evil Queen snorts - really it's more like an audible exhale through her nose - and rolls her eyes. “That's because you're about as adept in magic as the cricket is in psychology.”

Emma glares, eliciting a raised eyebrow.

“I'm not sure you and I have made it to that level of friendship yet. Divulging secrets is more of a Charming trait, anyway.”

Emma rolls her eyes. _Jesus_ , this version of Regina is even more childish than the one she's spent almost five years with. And it's so like a Regina comment, said so teasingly, that Emma forgets who she's actually in the presence of for a second and boldly, stupidly, says, “Are you _ever_ going to let that go?”

She whirls on Emma, eyes flashing again, the vein in her forehead popping. “Do you think I'd be here _now_ if I could?” It booms about the walls of Regina's office, sounding abnormally loud, and Emma flinches.

“So what,” Emma starts, still unsure of exactly what this Regina wants, “you're seriously making a potion to kill my mom and dad?”

“No, you _idiot_ ,” she grinds out, looking as if she's only milliseconds away from charring Emma to a crisp with one of her fireballs. “I'm making a potion that will separate Regina and I permanently.”

Emma wrinkles her nose. “Isn't that what the serum did?”

Dark eyes blink down at her, bemused. “My god, _how_ Regina hasn't killed you off yet is beyond me.” She waves a hand and all of the books and cylinders disappear, only the wine glass left, its colors now changing from deep navy to a milky turquoise. “Allow me to spell it out for you in terms even your underdeveloped brain can understand,” her voice becomes a mocking coo, her eyelashes batting with each word, “I'm going to drink this potion and then your beloved Regina is going to die.” She straightens into an upright stance again, rolling her eyes. “Is that simple enough for you to comprehend?”

Emma feels her stomach drop, feels the prickle of worry bite at her skin, tug in her chest. She steels it in favor of trying to pry a little more information. “How come Regina never made that for me? If she'd wanted me gone, why not just make that potion?” Emma nods her head toward the wine glass.

The Evil Queen rolls her eyes, the action so overdramatic Emma almost smiles. “You truly don't understand her at all, do you?”

Emma's neck jerks back, scowl forming. The question rips through her, her entire body tensing out of offense. “I understand her plenty,” Emma shoots back, glaring.

A perfectly shaped eyebrow quirks up. “You sound so very sure.”

Emma sets her jaw, eyes steadfast on the woman above her. “I am.”

“Mm. A Charming through and through. At any rate, Regina has always known the spell. She’s just never allowed herself to be dark enough to use it. Even when I was still inside of her.” She grinds out the last little bit, rancor absolutely dripping from the syllables.

Emma lets her words sink in. She's surprised to feel a little offended by this. That Emma hadn't gotten under her skin enough to want her dead.

God, how fucked up is _that_.

“I still don't understand how the potion works, though. You just drink that and - ”

“The person you most wish dead ceases to exist,” The Evil Queen finishes for her with a flourish of her hands, looking unnervingly like Rumple.

Emma swallows. Then tilts her head, brow furrowing. “Then why didn't you ever use it on my mom?”

“Do you have an off switch somewhere?” The Evil Queen grouses, turning to look at herself in the mirror. She tilts her head and then flicks her fingers, the sleek up-do of her hair coming undone and falling down her back, onyx waterfalls of curls gently swaying against the bodice of her outfit.

Her lips give a satisfied little quirk and Emma manages not to gape, belly furling with arou - _not_ that - before it morphs into anger. She covers her slip up with a jibe.

“If you start asking that thing if you’re the fairest of them all I’ll save you the trouble and slit my own throat.”

To Emma’s surprise, The Evil Queen gives a sonorous chuckle. Emma swallows at the sound.

“Your adorable little one-liners are truly the one thing both Regina and I find absolutely amusing.”

Emma gives her a dirty look. “They are not _adorable_.” The Evil Queen’s brow line rises, her lips pressing together. “They’re clever and always apposite.”

The curve of a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Oh, _and_ she knows how to read above a third grade level, how impressive.”

Emma’s jaw constricts, wondering how close she could get to punching that smirk right off that stupidly attractive mouth before she had a face full of fireball.

“You’re fucking annoying,” she grumbles, so irritated she wishes she could smash Regina’s mirror over her fucking head.

The Evil Queen chuckles again, this one more of a sharp bark. “My, my, I hope you don’t kiss your mother with that mouth.”

“I’d kiss you right now if it got you to shut the hell up for five seconds.”

It’s out of her mouth before she can bite down on her tongue and swallow it the fuck back down her throat where it belongs.

A dark head of hair tilts slowly, that lascivious curve of plum lips making Emma squirm uncomfortably on the floor.

The Evil Queen stalks forward, index finger curling slowly, magic rippling through Emma’s body as she rises to her feet, one last quick motion of the digit as it meets the pad of a palm and Emma’s upper body rocks forward, face coming within mere inches of The Evil Queen’s as she hums, eyes all over Emma’s face. A finger hooks under her chin.

“I’ve always found the concept of playing with your food to be a rather enjoyable one.” The Evil Queen’s eyes tip down to her lips, shining white teeth biting down on her own bottom one as she says, “Especially when the food is so _willing_.”

Emma’s eyelashes flutter, her breath coming out in a stuttered exhale as her eyes trace the lines of supple lips.

Lips that move closer. Her heartbeat thuds inside her chest so thunderously she thinks it can be heard bouncing about the walls of Regina’s office. Her breath fills her lungs on an inhale before it hitches, lips she’s wanted against her own for so long almost, just almost brushing...

“But...” she feels the finger under her chin disappear, a second later her shirt tightening over her back. She loses her balance as The Evil Queen’s fingers wrap around the fabric at the front of her shirt, pulling her flush against her and craning her neck backward a bit so their mouths stay close but never touch.

She gives one last glance to Emma’s lips, Emma’s mind a muddled, heated haze. “I think you’d like that too much,” she husks before shoving, a sickly amused laugh echoing in the room as Emma stumbles backward, her vision tilting red.

Something shifts inside of Emma, snaps, a resounding crack in her mind. “You’re damn right I would,” she says before she lunges forward and sinks her fingers in that delicious dark hair, grabbing a fistful of it and holding tight as she kisses that damned smirk right off The Evil Queen’s mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll leave Her Majesty's response up to you :)


End file.
